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"IT WAS LIKE LOOKING FROM THE ROOF OF A TEN-STORY BUILDING." 



I 


For Uncle Sam, Boss 



OR 



BY 


PERCY K. FITZHUGH 


AUTHOR OF “along THE MOHAWK TRAIL** 


Away down south in the Torrid Zone, 

North latitude nearly nine. 

Where the eight months’ pour once past and o’er. 
The sun four months shall shine; 

Where ’tis eighty-six the whole year round. 

And the folks can never agree; 

Where the plantain grows and the hot wind blotvs. 
Lies the Land of the Cocoanut Tree. 


> ) ) 


NEW YORK 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Fo 


Copyright, 1913, by 

Thomas Y. Crowell Company 


CONTENTS 


RAFTER PAGE 

I. To Show You Who’s Boss ... i 

11 . ‘‘ All Ashore that’s Going 

Ashore!” , . . 15 

III. While the Hero’s Back is 

Turned 25 

IV. Some History and a Little 

Tragedy 43 

V. To Introduce Vasco Nunez de 

Balboa 63 

VI. Uncle Sam, Host 94 

VH. Work, Work, Work — ^and a Lit- 
tle Play 115 

VIII. Jack Holden 137 

IX. Harry Receives Four Callers . 159 

X. Vasco Nunez Distinguishes Him- 
self 182 

XL ^'Clementina, ’Forty-niner” . 210 

XII. An Intruder 237 

XIII. Little Pedro 250 

XIV. Balboa and Mr. Carleton Conne 260 

iii 


IV 


CONTENTS 


GHAPTBR PAG* 

XV. For the Sake of the Boss . . . 271 

XVI. The Medal 282 

XVII. Gordon Lord Finds a Way . . . 289 

XVIII. Gordon Accepts a Challenge . . 297 

XIX. Down the Mississippi 305 

XX. Friends in Need 312 

XXL The Message to Ovando . . . 321 

XXII. Navassa 333 

XXIII. A Strange Caller 342 

XXIV. “ To Him that Overcometh — . 348 

XXV. Jack Finds a Way 361 

XXVI. The World United 373 

XXVII. Under Balboa's Tree 387 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


‘‘ It was like looking from the roof of a 

TEN-STORY BUILDING ” . . FrOUtispieCC 

OPPOSITE 

PAGE 

‘‘ ' Good-by once again. Fve got a meeting 


AT ELEVEN o’CLOCK ’ ” 12 

Harry clutched the Irishman’s arm ” . 162 

“ He studied it closely, touching it here 

and there” 352 






For Uncle Sam, Boss 


CHAPTER I 

TO SHOW YOU who’s BOSS 

And when it comes to enterprises, I can tell you 
one that would make the Panama Canal look like 
a — like a — like a — ” 

‘‘Three strikes out, Kid!” laughed one of the 
little group of boys which surrounded the speaker. 
“ What’s the enterprise ? ” 

Everybody stared. An old gentleman who was 
walking along the deck followed by a porter with 
two suit-cases, slackened his pace and smiled at the 
boys as he passed. A young man of perhaps twenty- 
five or six thrust his hands into his trousers pockets, 
planted himself as near as politeness would allow, 
and waited. He had a little, bristling mustache and 
a way of pulling the edge of it into his mouth with 
his lower teeth and cocking his head sideways, which 
gave him a funny, expectant air, as if he were per- 
fectly willing to hear the other side of the argu- 
ment. 

The boy who for the past fifteen minutes had 
1 


2 


BOY SCOUTS 


made himself the center of passing interest was 
about fourteen years old. He had a trim, compact 
little figure, clad in a complete suit of gray cordu- 
roy, with a corduroy hat to match. His trousers 
were buckled at his knees, and since his heavy, high- 
laced russet shoes almost reached the same point, 
there was visible not more than an inch or two of 
black stocking. He was leaning against the rail of 
the Panama Railroad Company’s steamer Ancon, 
as she lay at her pier in New York, and it was evi- 
dent to the young man with the bristling mustache 
that the other boys had been jollying him and that 
he was perilously near the point of explosion. Be- 
low, on the pier, were the hurry and confusion which 
always attend the last minutes before departure. 

‘‘ Go ahead. Kid,” said a tall boy of about nine- 
teen, who wore a long ulster and a Scotch plaid cap. 
“ Speak slowly and distinctly, pausing after each 
word.” 

‘‘ All ready, Gordon ? ” said a red-haired boy. 

One, two, three — ” 

Well, I read in a book,” said the boy in cordu- 
roy, “ well, anyway, you know the earth used to be 
part of the moon — I mean the moon used to be part 
of the earth — and do you know what the Pacific 
Ocean is? Why, it’s only just the hole made in the 
earth when the moon broke away, and it’s gotten 
filled with water. Well, now, if you could some 
way bring the moon down and fit it in where it be- 


AT PANAMA 


3 

longs — I don’t say you could, but if you could, that 
would be the biggest enterprise — ” 

“ We’ll have to think that over, Kid,” laughed the 
tall boy in the ulster, “ and I’ll see you about it as 
soon as I get back.” 

You’ll see me before you get back,” retorted the 
younger boy. '' Do you suppose I’m going to have 
you staying down there two or three years without 
seeing you? No, siree! I’m coming down next — 
next — summer. ’ ’ 

Coming alone ? ” 

I don’t know yet, but if I have to come alone, 
I will.” 

Talk about enterprise!” laughed one of the 
group. ''You’re enterprising enough, hey. Kid?” 

" Sure, that’s his middle name,” said another. 

" I may come down in an aeroplane, but more 
likely I’ll come in a sailing vessel — a gallant 
bark.” 

The young man with the bristling mustache thrust 
his hands harder down into his pockets, eying the 
speaker and laughing silently. 

"A sailor’s life is the life for you, hey. Kid?” 
laughed a boy. 

" You think the only thing down there is the 
Panama Canal. That’s all I’ve heard about this 
last month, and I’m sick of dams and locks and 
things. I don’t say the Panama Canal isn’t all right, 
but I say there are other things down there — things 


4 . BOY SCOUTS 

that date way back to the — the — what’ye call it — 
the dim past.” 

What, for instance, Kid?” 

‘‘ Oh, untold treasures — pieces of eight — ingots — 
and things like that.” 

Ingots? ” queried one boy. 

Sure, that’s what the pirates always hid. Do 
you mean to tell me that Colonel Goethals is as 
great as Sir Henry Morgan? Why, Sir Henry 
Morgan sacked Porto Bello ! He took all the gold — 
big long bars of it — from the Cathedral and buried 
it on the middle of the Isthmus where the — the foot 
of white man never trod, and it’s there yet. I don’t 
say the Panama Canal isn’t all right, because it’s a 
good idea; but what I say is, there are more im- 
portant things than that down there. And I don’t 
say Colonel Goethals isn’t all right, either, only he 
isn’t as great as a buccaneer, and neither is the 
President of the United States ! ” 

The tall boy put his hand over the speaker’s 
shoulder. “ Kid,” said he, in a low voice, “ when 
you come down. I’ll knock off work and we’ll go 
hunting for buried treasure; we’ll get those ingots, 
or whatever you call them, if we have to plow up 
the whole Isthmus.” 

You’ll know if you’re going to find any, Harry,” 
the younger boy said confidentially ; “ you might 
find some when you’re digging the Canal, you know ; 


AT PANAMA 


5 

because if you’re going to find buried treasure you 
dream of it three times running beforehand.” 

'' I’ll remember that, Kid.” 

'' And there’s another thing, too ; I bet you don’t 
know who Balboa was ! ” 

“ Sure,” said the red-haired boy, he discovered 
the Canal.” 

He’s the man that put the pan in Panama,” said 
another. 

‘‘ That shows how much you know ! ” said 
Gordon, contemptuously. “ You don’t even know 
he’s dead ! ” 

“ I didn’t know he was sick — honest. Kid.” 

He discovered the Pacific Ocean,” said Gordon. 

Oh, I remember him,” exclaimed a boy. “ I 
saw his picture in my history at school. He crossed 
the Isthmus through the jungle till he came out on 
a high hill and climbed a tree where he could see 
both oceans.” 

Oh, look who’s here ! ” called another boy, lean- 
ing over the rail. The others did the same. The 
young man with the bristling mustache, surmising 
that the show was about over, sauntered along the 
deck. 

A taxi had rolled down the pier and come to a 
stop just abreast of the gangplank, and an elderly 
gentleman with white hair and white mustache 
was helping out a girl of about seventeen. 

Well, what — do — ^you — know — about — that? ” 


6 


BOY SCOUTS 


whispered one of the boys, incredulously. It’s 
Mr. Danforth! Harry, boy, you’re certainly the 
teacher’s pet ! ” 

It was no wonder they were surprised. It was 
not an uncommon thing for men to come all the way 
from Boston, from Chicago, from Philadelphia, to 
see Mr. Danforth and to sit on a leather bench out- 
side his private office and patiently await his con- 
venience. When they succeeded in seeing him, they 
stated their business briefly, and went away. Yet 
here he was down at the pier, just to see this tall 
boy off for Panama. There must be some explana- 
tion for this. It will come in good time. 

Harry Arnold, or Harry boy, as they all called 
him, half tauntingly, half affectionately, strolled 
over to the head of the companionway and waited. 
He was tall and slender and had a quiet, self- 
possessed, half-careless air. You would never have 
supposed that he was really the center and chief 
interest of this little group of which he formed a 
part, but indeed he was more than that — he is the 
hero of this story. 

The girl came up first, flushed and radiant from 
the brisk morning air of November; an extremely 
pretty girl, with a merry smile which burst into a 
laugh as she set foot on the deck. Yet she seemed 
a trifle embarrassed, as if she were afraid they 
might wonder why she came, and it may have been 
that her ringing laugh was an effort to turn the fact 


AT PANAMA 


7 


of her presence into a joke. She wore one of those 
heavy gray coats with enormous lapels, and a 
worsted Tam-o'-Shanter hat, and her brown eyes 
literally danced with pleasure as she greeted Harry. 

‘‘ Just in time for the history lesson,” said he. 

Gordon's been giving a lecture on Balboa.” 

‘‘ Oh, Pm perfectly dreadful in history,” she 
laughed. 

Well, he's been passing around some astronomy, 
too, and if you don’t like that we have one or two 
choice pirates left. Hello, Mr. Danforth, it's 
awfully good of you and Marjorie to come.” 

Not at all, my boy,” said Mr. Danforth, grasp- 
ing Harry's hand and putting his arm over the boy's 
shoulder as they joined the group. Good morning, 
boys. I couldn’t let you start off without having 
a last word with you, Harry. You see. I’m selfish 
in this matter. I don't care a snap about you.” 
(The boys all laughed.) “ But I've got myself into 
a pickle recommending you, and if you don't make 
good I'm responsible. So Marjorie and I appointed 
ourselves a committee of two to come aboard 
and — ” 

I was coming to the city, anyway,” interrupted 
the girl, “ and I thought — we thought — it would be 
a splendid idea to come and show you — Do you 
know this newspaper has a picture of your 
boss?” 

‘‘ Colonel Goethals ? ” Harry asked. 


8 


BOY SCOUTS 


‘‘ No, not Colonel Goethals,’' she said, holding the 
paper behind her so that he could not take it. 

“ Oh, the President ? ” 

“ No, stupid, not the President ! Don't you know 
who's your boss? " 

“ Gordon? " he hazarded, somewhat puzzled, and 
there was a general laugh. 

‘‘ No, he won't be your boss any more for many 
a day," she answered. 

Unless he gets tired of it and comes home," 
suggested Winfield (otherwise, “ Brick ") Parks, 
he of the red hair. 

He won't get tired of it," said the girl, indig- 
nantly, ‘‘ I know he won't ! " 

“ I won't have to," laughed Harry. “ Gordon 
says he’s coming down. Come, let's see the picture 
of my boss, Marjorie." 

“ I won't," she laughed in his face, holding the 
paper tantalizingly behind her ; not till you 
promise you won’t give up — not even if you get 
bitten by an alligator." Marjorie Danforth thought 
this was the principal misfortune which happened 
to people who went to the tropics, and she men- 
tioned it as the most likely calamity which could 
befall Harry. 

‘‘ Not unless he bites my head off," Harry said ; 
** then I’d have to come home because I couldn’t 
see to work." 

‘‘ Would you think of leaving even if you were 


AT PANAMA 


9 


stung by a tarantula? ” she asked in tragic suspense. 

I expect to have all the tarantulas feeding out 
of my hand in a week.” 

You’re silly enough to try it; I know you’ll have 
some kind of a freakish pet down there,” she said, 
“ that will worry your mother to death, just as it 
did when you let your arm be tattooed. But you 
wouldn’t dream of coming home — of leaving?” 

‘‘ I might dream of it,” he laughed, but I guess 
the dream wouldn’t come true.” 

She looked straight at him in unconcealed con- 
fidence and admiration. Her father laid his hand 
again on the boy’s shoulder and for a moment no 
one spoke. Then Mr. Danforth broke the silence. 
‘‘ Harry, my boy,” he said, come with me, I want 
to talk to you.” No one ventured to follow except 
the girl, who clung to her father’s disengaged arm, 
impulsive and expectant. Thus he walked between 
them as they sauntered along the deck, till they 
came to an unfrequented spot forward where there 
was a great upright pipe expanding funnel-like and 
emitting hot air. Against this the girl stood, warm- 
ing herself, and her father took the paper from her. 

Harry,” said he, when you came up to the 
house last night to say good-by, I never thought I 
should see you this morning. But Marjorie and I 
happened to be breakfasting together (you know 
she’s the early bird of the family), and suddenly she 
broke out, ' Oh, here’s a picture of Harry’s boss ! ’ 


lO 


BOY SCOUTS 


She held up the paper and sure enough, there he 
was, and it put an idea into my head — made me 
want to say something more to you, my boy. So 
here we are.” 

You’re too stupid to guess,” said Marjorie, as 
he opened the paper, or else you’re just stubborn. 
So there ! ” 

She pointed toward the open page, and there was 
a cartoon of the usual kind seen in the daily papers. 
There was Uncle Sam standing on a bit of shore 
extending his hand in hospitable gesture to a 
squadron of majestic battleships, on the nearest of 
which floated the German flag. It was simply in- 
tended to indicate pictorially our government’s wel- 
come to the Kaiser’s fleet, which was visiting, or 
about to visit, the harbor of New York. 

Uncle Sam,” laughed Harry. 

‘‘ Yes, my boy; what would we ever do without 
him? How could artists and such people picture 
the government? And I tell you what, Harry, the 
first man who drew this old fellow was a genius! 
Look at that smile I ” 

He held the paper before him, and they crowded 
near him, one on either side, looking at it over his 
shoulders. There stood old Uncle Sam, with his 
plug hat and his star-spangled-banner coat-tails, and 
his shrewd, homely, good-natured smile. 

“ Harry, I want you to think of him as your 
boss. Not the President — presidents come and go — 


AT PANAMA 


II 


we’ll have a new one, like enough, before this job 
is finished — but this old fellow is always here. 
Don’t think of Congress as your boss or the Canal 
Commission or Colonel Goethals. Think of this 
old fellow. Look at that face, Harry, and try to 
think of it as a real, living face — the face of some 
one you know and love. Who does it look 
like? ” 

‘‘Lincoln?” suggested Harry. 

“ Yes, I thought it did, a little — tall and raw- 
boned and ungainly — just in the general aspect, you 
know. Now I tell you what, my boy, this is what I 
mean. They say a fellow always works better for a 
man he likes than for a big company, and I’ve found 
that out. I’ve got several thousand people working 
for me, Harry, and I try to keep them from thinking 
that they work for this railroad or that railroad. 
That’s why I go round the country — see the gangs at 
work, talk to them, get acquainted with them, and 
try to make them like me. 

“ Now, my boy, if you go down there with the 
idea that you’re working for the War Department, 
you might get it into your head that the War Depart- 
ment was wrong in some way or wasn’t treating you 
fair, and you might — I don’t say you would — but 
you might be tempted to leave or shirk or some- 
thing of that kind. Just you settle it in your mind 
that you’re working for this old fellow — see ? Think 
of that kind, shrewd, genial, generous face. Think 


12 


BOY SCOUTS 


of that if you get discouraged or homesick or dis- 
satisfied. Think of him as your friend.” 

He paused, but Harry said nothing. 

“Does he look as if he’d treat you fair? He’s 
given you a good job, my boy — you’ve got the ap- 
pointment in your pocket. He’s going to give you 
a place to sleep. He’s going to furnish you with 
better food and cheaper than any hotel or restaurant 
down there thinks of doing. He’s taken that old 
bandanna handkerchief of his and shooed all the 
mosquitoes off the Isthmus, and cleaned it up like a 
Dutch housewife. Don’t you listen to any talk 
against him. He’s your friend, my boy. Don’t give 
him just what he pays for and no more — remember, 
he’s a close relation, Harry, he’s your uncle. Al- 
ways remember this grand old fellow smiling at you, 
believing in you, trusting you, depending on you.” 

He stopped short, still holding , the paper open 
before them. The girl looked covertly across her 
father’s shoulder at Harry, but the boy’s eyes were 
riveted upon the sheet. 

“ I don’t know whether you quite understand me, 
Harry,” said Mr. Danforth, as he folded up the 
paper; “but I thought it was a good idea of 
Marjorie’s.” 

“ I think I do, sir,” said Harry. 

“ I guess you do, my boy. Now, good-by once 
again; we’re going right down these steps here. 
I’ve got a meeting at eleven o’clock. You go 


» 



GOOD-BY ONCE AGAIN. I’VE GOT A MEETING AT ELEVEN O'CLOCK. 








AT PANAMA 


13 

back and spend the rest of your time with the 
boys.” 

He grasped Harry’s hand, and the boy looked 
into the kindly, wrinkled face of the man whom he 
had to thank for his start in life. '' Good-by, Mr. 
Danforth,” said he, with just the touch of a tremor 
in his voice. ‘‘ Good-by, Marjorie.” 

‘‘ Isn’t it all true? ” she said excitedly, as she took 
his hand. 

“What your father was saying? Yes, it’s all 
true.” 

“ And you won’t be a what-do-you-call-it ? ” 

“ No, I won’t be a what-do-you-call-it.” 

“ I mean a — oh, what is it you call a person who 
gives up ? ” 

“I know, Marjorie; no, I don’t think I’ll be 
that.” 

“ But, of course, you’ll want to come back some- 
time, when it’s all over, won’t you ? ” 

“ Yes, then I’ll come marching hofne again, 
hurrah.” 

“ Silly!” 

It was a long hand-shake; Mr. Danforth was 
halfway down the steps when it ended. Harry 
walked slowly aft, keeping near the rail, and pres- 
ently saw them emerge from the gangway and enter 
the taxi. 

“ He’ll make good,” said Mr. Danforth, cheerily. 


14 


BOY SCOUTS 


as they seated themselves. I don't believe he’ll 
get discouraged, do you? ” 

“ Don’t you think he looks splendid in that big 
ulster? ” said she. 

Which was rather an odd way to answer her 
father’s question. 


CHAPTER II 


ALL ASHORE THAT’s GOING ASHORE ! ” 

Harry walked along the deck toward the group 
of boys he had left. There was his friend and 
stanch champion, Gordon Lord, holding forth 
volubly on the subject of his intended visit to 
Panama. Of course, none of them took him 
seriously; he was only fourteen, and what could he 
do at the Isthmus ? But they liked to hear him talk 
just the same. It gave Harry just a touch of home- 
sickness to see these friends laughing and chatting 
together and to realize that they would soon be going 
back on the one-twenty to the pleasant New Jersey 
suburb which he would not see again for two years. 

They were held together in comradeship by a 
stronger tie than that which commonly holds boys in 
friendship, for they were all scouts together and 
were members of the First Oak wood Troop, of Oak- 
wood, New Jersey. They had camped together, 
stalked and tracked together, and now the boy of 
whom they were proudest was leaving them. And 
who could take the place of Harry Arnold? Well, 
at least, G. Lord, mascot and youngest Beaver of 
them all, was left. 


15 


i6 


BOY SCOUTS 


Harry smiled at the enthusiastic little fellow, who 
was excitedly announcing his program for visiting 
the Isthmus, and quietly joined the listeners. There 
came a day, not so many months later, when he 
thought wistfully of this morning of his departure; 
when he smiled to think how true was Marjorie 
Danforth’s taunting prophecy that he would “ have 
some freakish pet down there,” and when he began 
to realize what the fulfilment of her girlish augury 
would mean. And there came a day when he 
thought of Gordon standing there at the steamer’s 
rail, a trim, natty little figure in his belted corduroy 
suit, with his brown face and enthusiastic brown 
eyes. And on that dreadful day there came to him 
the thought that he would never see Gordon again. 
But all that is in the future, and let us not borrow 
trouble. It is one of the storms our narrative must 
pass through. 

“ They’ve got some dandy Indians down there,” 
Gordon was saying; “ San Bias, they call them, and 
they’ve never been civilized. Cracky, I hope they 
never will be — anyway, not till after I’ve been there. 
But I’m afraid they’ll all be civilized now on account 
of the Canal.” 

“ I’ll promise not to civilize a single one of them. 
Kid,” said Harry. 

“ Hello, Harry boy,” said Roy Carpenter, one 
of the patrol leaders; you come so blamed quiet; 
where’s — ” 


AT PANAMA 


17 

“ Gone/' said Harry. Go on, Kid, tell us some 
more about Balboa; there isn’t much time left." 

“ I’ll bet I can tell you some things about him 
G. Lord doesn’t know,’’ put in Brick Parks. 

“Very well, Winfield,’’ said Howard Brent; 
“ stand in the middle of the aisle, and don’t touch 
the desk. Proceed.’’ 

“ Well, you fellows think the U. S. Battleship 
Oregon will be the first ship to cross the Isthmus. 
That’s what the papers say, but I can tell you that 
Balboa was the man that invented picture puzzles — 
so there ! ’’ 

“ What’s that got to do with it ? ’’ demanded 
Gordon. 

“ That’s history, lesson twenty-two, page forty- 
seven, beginning with the first paragraph.’’ 

“ Oh, let up — what are you giving us? ’’ 

“ Balboa wanted to launch three ships in the 
Pacific Ocean, so he took them across the Isthmus 
in pieces, little pieces, and put them together when 
he got them over to the west shore. Those three 
ships were the first picture puzzles and the first boats 
to cross the Isthmus.’’ 

“ Wrong as usual,’’ said Roy Carpenter. “ It’s 
true he took them over and put them in the Pacific 
Ocean that way, but the Pacific Ocean isn’t west 
down there, it’s east.’’ 

“ You’re crazy! ’’ shouted Gordon. “ The Pacific 
Ocean is west — you learn that in the third grade. 


i8 


BOY SCOUTS 


You all think you can jolly me, don’t you? And 
that’s a crazy thing about the ships, too. When you 
go from the Atlantic to the Pacific, you go west. 
Didn’t Columbus sail west? Well, then ! You make 
me tired ! You’re crazy ! ” 

Guess it’s the Isthmus that’s crazy. Kid,” said 
Harry, coming to the rescue. It does a kind of 
loop-the-loop ; the sun rises out of the Pacific down 
there. I suppose it’s so rattled it doesn’t know 
where to rise half the time. It’s a freakish place. 
I’m not going to bother my head about it, and don’t 
you. It makes you feel kind of funny to look at 
a government map of the Canal Zone and see the 
Atlantic end on the left and the Pacific end on the 
right. It’s a queer place ; they have rain storms six 
months long, and the people carry everything they 
own on their heads. Then along comes a gang of 
masons and they put up a dam, and that changes 
a lot of hills into islands. Presto! Then along 
comes somebody else, some engineer, and he says, 
‘I don’t just like this river here, it’s in the way; 
just help me move it over a little,’ and over she 
goes I ” 

Gordon’s eyes were wide with astonishment. For 
a moment he was quiet — an unusual thing. His 
credulity was taxed to the uttermost. Then came the 
last straw to break the camel’s back, a strange voice, 
brisk and matter-of-fact, and Gordon riveted his 
eyes upon the speaker, drinking in every word. It 


AT PANAMA 


19 


was the young man with the bristling mustache. He 
had sauntered quietly over to them, his hands still 
in his trousers pockets, and he threw his head back 
and cocked it sideways, fixing Gordon with a 
whimsical, yet businesslike, air. 

I was wondering if you ever heard of the 
strange way your friend Balboa set sail for Panama ? 
No? Well, that was the queerest thing of all. He 
was packed in a barrel.” 

Gordon was so accustomed to being “ jollied ” 
that he was on the alert with this stranger who had 
addressed him in a way of business confidence, as 
one man may speak to another. 

Y-e-e-s, he was! ” said he. 

'' Sure as you live,” said the stranger. I just 
thought as long as you were on the subject of 
freakishness, Fd drop in my little mite.” 

I told you it was a queer place,” laughed Harry. 

'' Why, you’ll be a regular Alice-in- Wonder- 
land,” said the stranger, turning suddenly upon 
him. 

“ Yes,” Harry laughed, “ if the birds and beasts 
could only talk.” 

“They can,” the stranger promptly retorted; 
“ some of them. The Panama parrots just monop- 
olize the conversation ; you can’t get a word in edge- 
ways.” 

“ What’de go in a barrel for ? ” Gordon asked, 
eying the stranger with a look of contemptuous 


20 BOY SCOUTS 

suspicion which did not seem to disconcert its object 
in the least. 

“What for? Well, between you and me he 
owed a lot of money and his creditors were after 
him. He lived in Haiti, you know, and owed every- 
body, big sums for tires, gasoline, and one thing or 
another at every garage on the island. So poor he 
couldn’t even pay his respects — ” 

“ Y-e-e-s ! ” sneered Gordon. 

“ So he had himself put in a barrel and rolled 
on board. His creditors went down and searched 
the ship for him, but it was no use. He just winked 
his eye through the bunghole, and yo-ho, my lads, a 
life on the ocean wave for him! He wasn’t dis- 
covered. All the discovering was done by him later. 
You’ll have to hunt him up — hunt him up in the 
books, I mean,” he added, turning suddenly to 
Harry. “ Why, he—” 

“ Conne, Conne, Mr. Conne,” piped a voice. 
“ Any one by the name of Carleton Conne? 

“ Right here, my son,” said the young man, 
wheeling about and stopping a messenger boy. He 
did not seem to be at all surprised at receiving a 
letter here on shipboard. On the contrary, he 
opened it quite blandly, then with one hand thrust 
deep into his trousers pocket he held the paper 
almost at arm’s length with the other, drew the 
edge of his mustache between his teeth, and con- 
templated the note as if it were a pretty picture on 


AT PANAMA 


21 


which he had been asked to give a candid opinion. 
He had wheeled about so that his back was toward 
Gordon, and as the note was written in a large, 
bold hand the words were plainly visible. Before 
Gordon realized what he ^was doing, and without 
intending to read it, he had become aware of its 
contents. 

He saw many things which others did not see, 
he was nothing if not wide-awake and observant, 
but of all the things he had ever seen in his life, 
and of all the strange things he had heard that very 
morning, this letter was the most astonishing. It 
read : 

Just a last word. Better wait till you are 
well out at sea. Strangling would he best, 
hut anyway the struggle should he short. 
How does Spanish gold strike you? Good 
luck. 

There was a signature scrawled which Gordon 
did not make out. Mr. Carleton Conne, deliberately, 
heartlessly, folded this appalling missive, put it in 
his pocket, and saying, ‘‘Well, good-by, boys,’' 
sauntered away. 

For a minute, Gordon was too aghast to speak. 
Then he said tremblingly : “ That man is going to 
kill somebody ! Do you know what that letter said ? 
It said strangling would be the best way. There’s 
going to be murder, Harry ; it’s got something to do 


22 


BOY SCOUTS 


with Spanish gold — it said so. It said the struggle 
must be short — I saw it. Harry, that man is a 
deep-dyed villain ! ” 

“ Oh, I guess not. Kid,” laughed Harry. “ You’ve 
got Spanish gold on the brain.” 

''Harry, I tell you I saw it! You watch that 
man — he’s a villain! I knew it the minute I saw 
him. Both his names begin with the same letter, 
too, and that’s a sign, because you know Roger 
Rondout — in — in Henty. Harry, you watch that 
man. You may have a chance to be a hero! ” 

The laughter of the boys drowned his excited 
words. What more he might have said, I do not 
know, for just then there came along the deck that 
official whose cheerful duty it is to separate friends. 
On he came, heartless and heedless, putting an end 
to many a pleasant chat as he passed, and leaving 
here and there a tear-filled eye, or a fond embrace 
in his path of ruin. 

"All ashore that’s going ashore!” he shouted. 
" Last call, all ashore that’s going ashore ! ” 

" Good-by, Harry, old boy, let’s hear from you.” 
"Good-by — good-by, old man!” "Yes, sure I’ll 
write.” "So long.” "Good luck to you!” 
" You’ll be back before you know it.” " Oh, but 
we’ll miss you ! ” A dozen voices spoke, one upon 
the other and all together in cordial, affectionate 
confusion. 

" Good-by, good-by — good-by. Kid, old boy,” said 


AT PANAMA 


23 

Harry, extending both his hands here and there 
among them. 

“ All ashore that's going ashore ! " 

And the next thing Harry Arnold knew, he was 
looking over the rail at the party of boys who stood 
on the pier. Close by a couple of longshoremen 
were pulling up a mammoth hempen rope which had 
been let go from somewhere along the great black 
towering hull beneath him. As he looked, one of 
the boys raised his arm level with his forehead, the 
little finger held down with the thumb, the three 
other fingers standing upright. The others promptly 
followed his example. 

It was the full salute of the Scouts ; not the salute 
given in the ordinary intercourse of troop with 
troop, or patrol with patrol, or from one scout to 
another, for that is the half salute and only shoulder 
high. But this was the salute they might have 
given Black Wolf ” himself, or their own scout- 
master. Once before, when they had him where he 
was powerless, they had voluntarily given the full 
salute to Harry. That was on the stage of the 
Town Hall in Oakwood when the prizes were 
awarded after a summer of camping and adventure. 
They had done it then, unordered, in the spontane- 
ous impulse of their unbounded regard for the boy 
whom they were proud to count their friend. He 
had earned the full salute then. Will he earn it 
now? 


24 


BOY SCOUTS 


And his adventures ? Whether they lead him into 
as many devious and dangerous ways as his adven- 
tures of the past summer, and whether he acquit 
himself as resourcefully, as honorably, as he did 
then ; and whether he come forth stronger and more 
manly for what he has learned and suffered and been 
through — that shall be for you to say. 


CHAPTER III 


WHILE THE hero’s BACK IS TURNED 

Now that Master Gordon Lord is effectually 
silenced, for the time being, at least, and the excite- 
ment of departure is over, let us steal quietly away 
from the boy who is leaning over the steamer’s rail 
indulging in a daydream, while I make you more 
particularly acquainted with him. If just the 
faintest touch of homesickness tinges his thoughts 
as he watches the majestic goddess on her lofty 
pedestal receding across the bay, and thinks of the 
familiar faces (and for all I know, of the one ex- 
ceptionally pretty face) which he does not expect 
to see again for many a moon, why, that is all the 
more reason why we should leave him to himself. 

You have heard of boys starting gayly off to the 
farthest ends of the earth on the most hazardous 
adventures without so much as a pang at leaving 
home, but Harry was not that kind of boy. Indeed, 
you may as well know at the very beginning that, 
fond of adventure as he was and proficient in all the 
woodcraft arts, there was a little vein of gentleness 
running in him which often got in his way and 
25 


26 


BOY SCOUTS 


embarrassed him, but which nevertheless endeared 
him to everybody. We are all agreed that actions 
speak louder than words, and doubtless you are more 
curious to know what he is going to do than what 
his friends think of him. Also it may be that you 
have already met him among other scenes. At all 
events a word or two will not be amiss. If you are 
to hear anything in his favor you will have to hear 
it from me, for you will certainly never hear it from 
him. 

When the Boy Scout movement started, he was 
active in forming the Oakwood troop. That honor 
was generally conceded to Dr. Brent, a young phy- 
sician of that pleasant suburb, and indeed it was he 
who had inspired the thought and become the troop’s 
scoutmaster; but Harry Arnold had been his right- 
hand man. He had talked with this boy and that, 
given them Scout literature to read, and mustered 
most of them in, one by one. 

He had enlisted “ Brick” Parks (“His head will 
do for a camp-fire,” he had told the Doctor) ; he had 
brought in Matthew Reed (troop jester), and he 
had fired Roy Carpenter with enthusiasm. These 
two became the leaders of the two patrols, Harry 
of the “ Beavers,” Roy of the “ Hawks ” ; but lately 
Harry had become rather more than this, he had 
grown to be a sort of assistant scoutmaster to Dr. 
Brent. 

But, greatest of all, he had discovered Gordon 


AT PANAMA 


27 


Lord. There was a discovery to put Columbus and 
Balboa and all the rest in the shade! One day he 
was walking past the fine new bungalow which had 
lately been finished and occupied, up the road a 
little way from the big, old-fashioned Arnold place, 
when he became aware of a lively youngster swing- 
ing on a gate. 

“ Hello, Kid,” said Harry, cheerily. 

Hello, yourself,” said the smaller boy. ‘‘ You 
live in that big house down there? ” 

Surest thing you know,” said Harry. What's 
that you've got?” 

An onion.” 

‘‘ An onion ? ” 

“ That's what I said.” 

“ What' re you going to do with it?” 

Write a letter.” 

Whatf^^ 

‘‘Write a letter! You don't know much about 
secret ciphers and things, I guess, do you? ” 

“ 'Fraid not; but you don't think that's a bottle 
of ink, do you ? ” said Harry. 

“ That's just what it is — invisible ink. It’s good 
to use if you're a spy. If Nathan Hale had used 
it, he wouldn’t have been hung. You jab your pen 
into it and write with the juice. It’s invisible — can’t 
see a word. Then when you want to read it, heat 
it over the stove or the radiator and the writing 
will show up. Your name's Arnold, isn’t it? ” 


28 


BOY SCOUTS 


‘‘ Correct,” said Harry. ‘‘ Come with me — you’ll 
do.” 

It required no persuasion. G. Lord and his onion 
were taken forthwith to Dr. Brent’s and the future 
mascot of the Beavers was presented. 

“ Doctor,” said Harry, “ here is the only original 
Boy Scout, guaranteed; if not satisfactory you get 
your money back. Tell him about the invisible 
writing. Kid.” 

‘‘ That’s nothing,” said Gordon, encouraged ; “ do 
you know how to make a candlestick out of a clothes- 
pin? ” 

Of course they did not let G. Lord slip through 
their fingers, and the discovery raised Harry to local 
fame. G. Lord himself discovered many things. 
He seldom went out without picking up dimes, 
pennies, buckles, marbles, pencils, and other various 
odds and ends. But Harry Arnold had discovered 
G. Lord, and G. Lord had become the close friend, 
the champion, the worshiper of Harry Arnold. 

It was while the two patrols with Dr. Brent were 
camping in the Adirondacks that Harry met the 
Danforths, who had later moved to Oakwood. 
They had a summer place on the shore of Lake 
Champlain, and it was there that Harry had rescued 
Mr. Danforth’s little son from drowning. That is 
all part of another story and has no business here 
except to explain Mr. Danforth’s interest in Harry 
and his desire to help the boy along. He had 


AT PANAMA 


29 


admired Harry’s character, and had been impressed 
with his modesty and his manliness to such a degree 
that on the boy’s refusal of a reward for the rescue, 
what did Mr. Danforth do but turn around and erect 
a camping pavilion on Lake Champlain which he 
gave to the Boy Scouts of America with the provi- 
sion that it should be called the Arnold Pavilion. 
Sometime in the future, when the Adirondack woods 
are fragrant and the vines have grown up over the 
beautiful camping shack, we may visit it and see 
the rustic fireplace and the motto which Marjorie 
Danforth selected to be graven on a rustic board 
below the massive chimney shelf. G. Lord was in 
that conspiracy — but at present, we are going south. 

Harry’s ambition was to become a civil engineer. 
He had spent the past year in study, and when he 
had received the practical experience which his work 
on the Canal would give him, he was to enter college 
and eventually have a place on the engineering force 
associated with Mr. Danforth in his vast railroad 
interests. He had a mother and father and a young 
sister, but they were at present traveling abroad. 

He was a quiet boy and very thoughtful. With 
all his fondness for camping and his enthusiasm for 
outdoor life, there was just a little touch of the 
recluse in him which the boys recognized and 
respected. He was fond of wandering off alone at 
times, and nature, the woods and water, were as 
much his companions as the other boys. He never 


30 


BOY SCOUTS 


made any boast of his prowess, nor of his other 
virtues. For instance, he would never shoot an 
animal. “ Don’t believe I could hit one,” he would 
say, and he would have you think that was the 
reason. But, of course, the boys knew better. He 
was the best shot in the troop. He could shoot an 
arrow from an Indian bow with undeviating aim. 
His reason for not wanting to do a thing that was 
wrong or mean or cruel was, “ I don’t see any fun 
in that.” And you could not get any more out of 
him. 

“ Harry boy has never caused me any worry, I 
will say that much,” Mrs. Arnold would tell you, 
and then “ Harry boy ” would say, “ Oh, yes, I have, 
mother,” and tell you of the time when she was 
quite annoyed and frantic with anxiety, the time he 
had allowed his arm to be tattooed by a wandering 
Indian basket maker. He had a little weakness for 
freakish things like that, and I dare say his mother 
may possibly have worried more than she admitted, 
first and last, but it was because he was over venture- 
some, never for any other reason. 

It was a big, old, rambling house in which the 
Arnolds lived, a relic of the days when Oak wood 
was not the home of commuters, and its large, 
square rooms, the dining room with its polished 
rafters, the spacious attic, had a fascination for the 
boys who came and went, and tramped up and down 
the wide stair to and from Harry’s room, as if the 


AT PANAMA 


31 

place were their own home. And what a place that 
attic was on rainy days! 

But Harry’s room was the delightful spot of the 
fine old mansion, or so the boys thought. There 
was a window seat where they used to loll, and 
where his canoe cushions lay when not in requisition 
on the river. One of these was of buckskin with 
Indian fringe around the edge, and had H. A. 
embroidered in one corner. I dare say some one 
made him that one. There was a pipe rack with a 
row of holes to accommodate pipes ; but this rack 
served a different purpose, for it held a row of oar- 
locks and resting across them or in them were 
several choice fishing-rods. There was no end of 
books — on the mantel, in cases, on the couch, and a 
row of them had even trespassed into the curio 
cabinet where Harry kept his trophies and curiosities 
which were the perpetual delight of Gordon Lord. 
There was a whale’s tooth carved by an old sailor, 
there were Indian arrowheads, there was the sword 
his grandfather had worn at Gettysburg and the 
medals he himself had received at the hands of the 
Boy Scouts. And standing in the corners were 
canoe paddles which looked all alike to the boys but 
each of which had some quality of its own, known 
only to Harry. 

They would spend whole afternoons in this 
fascinating room, and when they all came tramping 
down the stairs, as likely as not they would 


32 


BOY SCOUTS 


encounter Mrs. Arnold in the great hall, where, in 
the winter, a roaring fire always blazed on the open 
hearth. She was very sweet and old-fashioned and 
gentle. 

You will be back for dinner, won’t you, Harry 
boy? ” she would very likely ask, and Harry would 
put his arm around her neck and say, “ Yes ” or 

No,” as the case might be, and kiss her before 
leaving. Then, when he was gone she would often 
turn to Margaret, Harry’s sister, and say, I hope 
he will always do that; I’m always afraid when the 
boys are with him that he won’t — that he’ll get to 
think it’s old-fashioned.” 

What, for him to kiss his mother ? I don’t see 
anything old-fashioned in that — goodness! And I 
know he never will.” 

“ Well,” Mrs. Arnold would say, as if reassured 
by the girl’s confidence, “ I hope they won’t think 
he’s a ‘ Willie boy.’ ” 

“ I don’t think there’s much danger, mother,” the 
girl would laugh. 

Well,” Mrs. Arnold would say again, “ I hope 
they won’t keep him up at the Danforths’ to sup- 
per.” 

But they usually did for all that. 

As the liner moved down the middle of the river 
a humble ferryboat paused respectfully in its splash- 
ing progress for the big ship to pass. It looked 


AT PANAMA 


33 


very commonplace from Harry’s vantage point at 
the steamer’s rail, plying its monotonous way across 
the river, and the people who herded at the accordion 
fence on its deck seemed poor wretches with never 
exploit or adventure to beguile their humdrum lives. 
That is the way things and people seem when you 
look down upon them from the rail of a liner which 
is to take you to Panama. 

It was not till the familiar sights of the harbor 
were indistinguishable that Harry’s gaze wandered 
out over the ocean and his thoughts turned un- 
hindered to the new, strange life that was opening 
before him. Not till then could he think of the 
future, or at least, not till then did it seem real to 
him. 

He was actually going to work on the Panama 
Canal. He was to have a hand in vanquishing those 
obstacles which had baffled and confounded Colum- 
bus and sent him home to Spain a disappointed and 
broken man. He knew this mighty work was going 
to take its place among the wonders of the world. 
And he was going to help. He had seen pictures of 
it, showing the progress of work here and there, the 
Culebra Cut, the great steam-shovels, the persistent 
drills perched here and there like eagles on cliff 
and crag, eating their way relentlessly into the 
stubborn rock. And he had wondered how those 
little cars could ever carry away a sufficient part 
of the continent to leave a hole halfway across. 


34 


BOY SCOUTS 


Then he had thought of what he once heard about 
the little hair-spring wheel in a watch — how it 
travels eleven miles a day, simply by keeping right 
at it, continually, ceaselessly. Yet it had seemed 
to him incredible that they could ever get this great 
task finished. There was so much of it that it 
seemed hopeless. And, somehow or other, the “ big 
ditch ” had taken its place in his imagination along 
with all the other things he had heard about the 
torrid zone, and had become a part of that land of 
enchantment. And now he was going there. 

To Harry, the very word tropics ’’ had always 
suggested something very far away and unreal, palm 
trees, rubber plants, cockatoos, impenetrable thickets, 
deadly swamps, mammoth spiders, and all sorts of 
venomous and uncanny life. He thought of the 
pictures he had seen of tropical scenes, with all the 
trees drooping and dripping, with monkeys hanging 
by their tails or dropping cocoanuts on the heads of 
tapirs and ant-eaters, and strange-looking birds eat- 
ing bananas right off the trees. 

Some one came and leaned over the rail close 
beside him. It was Mr. Carleton Conne. 

Well,” said he, “ so you’re going down to dig 
in the sand with Uncle Sam, hey?” 

Harry started out of his preoccupation and 
laughed. Yes,” said he, “ but I haven’t got my 
little pail and shovel along.” 

You’ll see shovels enough when you get down 


AT PANAMA 35 

there; and it’s something like digging in the sand, 
too. It’s a regular Sunday School picnic ! ” 

You’ve been there? ” Harry asked. 

There last year, but there was nothing doing for 
me on account of the rain. I got tired waiting for 
it to hold up and came home. We’ll have a dry 
spell down there pretty quick now.” 

Harry wanted to ask Mr. Conne his business, but 
he thought of the mysterious letter and refrained. 

“ I had an idea it meant pretty hard work ; I 
didn’t suppose it was much like a picnic,” he said. 

‘‘ No? Well, of course, anybody who goes down 
there with the idea that it’s an afternoon tea has a 
big surprise coming to him. It’s work, work, work, 
and then a little more, but they all seem to like it. 
The Old Man’s got them hypnotized.” 

Uncle — er, you mean Colonel Goethals ? ” Harry 
asked. 

That’s him. G. W.’^ 

“ They call him the Old Man ? ” ^ 

“ That’s what they do.” 

Does he know it ? ” 

‘‘Know it? Of course he knows it — he knows 
everything. Don’t you go down there with the idea 
you can fool the Old Man.” 

“ He’s all right, is he ? ” queried Harry. 

“ He is — with something left over.” 

“White as snow?” Harry encouraged, more to 
draw out Mr. Conne than for any other reason. 


36 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Well, if not, he’s the lightest shade of gray you 
ever saw. George Washington was dark blue com- 
pared to him. He’s as straight as the Isthmus is 
crooked. Don’t miss the Old Man, my boy; he’s 
one of the sights.” 

And they all like their work? ” said Harry. 

They’re daft on the subject. They break rec- 
ords forty-’leven times a day. You’ll hear about 
it. Why, the minute you set foot in Culebra, up 
will come some fellow and he’ll say, * How many 
cubic yards do you think we turned over yesterday ? ’ 
And you’ll say, ‘ Give it up,’ and he’ll say, ‘ Nine 
hundred and fifty-two.’ Then along comes another 
man and he’ll say, ‘ Have you heard what 78 did 
yesterday? Well, we beat it by eighty-four cubic 
yards.’ Why, you’d think they all had an interest 
in it!” 

“ Haven’t they ? ” Harry asked. 

Why, yes, come to think of it; I suppose that 
Canal belongs to you and me and the boys, doesn’t 
it?” 

That’s the idea,” said Harry. 

“ And then you want to look out for another 
kind of fellow down there. Some of them are 
so interested and crazy about the Canal that they’re 
afraid you won’t appreciate it, and they try to startle 
you. Don’t you be surprised at anything you hear. 
They’ll buttonhole you as soon as you get on shore. 
You’ll meet some fellow who’ll say, ' Do you know 


AT PANAMA 


37 


how much cement there is in the Gatun Dam ? ’ 
And you’ll say, ‘ No, how much cement is there in 
the Gatun Dam?’ And then he’ll tell you that if 
you take all the cement from the streets of Chicago 
and Boston and New York and London and Paris 
and Philadelphia and a few other places, you’d have 
just about enough to build one sixteenth part of the 
Gatun Dam. And if that doesn’t stagger you, he’s 
got another right on the tip of his tongue. Pretty 
soon you’ll go to the Ancon Hospital with brain 
fever from trying to comprehend it all. You see, 
the job’s too big; it doesn’t fit in with our notion of 
things, and it’s hard work to make people see it. 
So everybody has a little stock of parables and 
posers and things ready for you. — Too bad the little 
fellow couldn’t come along,” he added, as a sudden 
thought. ‘‘ I’d give a mess o’ pottage to see him 
watch a ship climb upstairs when the Gatun locks are 
finished.” 

Yes,” laughed Harry. He’s our troop 
mascot.” 

‘‘ Scouts, eh ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, Oakwood, New Jersey.” 

Well, they’ve got a wide-awake lot of them 
down on the Isthmus.” 

^^So?” asked Harry, in surprise. 

‘‘ Yes, sir; library, Y. M. C. A., club — all the 
delicacies of the season. But there’s one thing I 
don’t understand about those Scouts,” he added. 


BOY SCOUTS 


38 

with a funny, quizzical air. ‘‘ They’ve got Theodore 
Roosevelt for Honorary Vice-President, and one of 
their principal rules is never to shoot an animal for 
pleasure. — I guess it’s going to blow up some.” 

In token of this apprehension he turned up the 
collar of his overcoat, and saying that he would 
see Harry later, he sauntered along the deck, leaving 
the leader of the Beaver Patrol to digest the little 
morsel which he had facetiously offered regarding 
the Scouts. 

Harry did not know what to think of Mr. Conne. 
Whatever his business was, he certainly was in the 
habit of keeping his eyes and ears open. He seemed 
to be familiar with history. Harry knew that what 
he had told Gordon about Balboa was true, at least 
as far as the barrel episode was concerned; and he 
even knew enough about the Boy Scouts to poke a 
little fun at them. The trouble was that everything 
he said was uttered in such a whimsical, airy way 
and with such offhand familiarity that it was hard 
to believe he entertained a serious appreciation of 
anything. He had a way of giving a ridiculous twirl 
to everything he said. It amused Harry to hear him 
talk, but he did not quite know whether he liked him 
or not. 

He watched Mr. Conne as he sauntered along 
the deck. He had a way of swinging his legs this 
way and that and walking in a kind of aimless 
fashion. Yet strangely enough, perhaps, the im- 


AT PANAMA 


39 


pression which forced itself upon Harry’s scout mind 
was that he could afford to walk with this vacillating 
gait and take his time and look casually on all things, 
and talk of them with intimate freedom, because, 
away down in his own nature, he was perfectly sure 
of himself, so sure that he did not have to give any 
evidence of it in his demeanor. 

I speak of the impression on Harry’s scout mind 
because the Scouts are supposed to study people and 
judge them, more or less, by the little signs which 
the generality of boys do not notice. It was this 
phase of scouting (deduction, so-called) which of 
late had interested Harry particularly, and his 
enthusiasm had been kindled by the recent visit to 
America of the great Scout of Scouts, the hero of 
the Boer War, General Baden-Powell. For him 
Harry entertained an unbounded admiration. Along 
with a few other fortunate Scouts, he and Roy 
Carpenter, as patrol leaders, had availed themselves 
of a much prized invitation to meet the General 
one Saturday. I suspect the invitation resulted from 
some account of Harry’s exploits which had reached 
headquarters, but do not mention it to him that I 
told you. 

A trifling incident had occurred that day which 
sent Harry home resolved to read again the chapter 
in the English Scout Manual which treats of deduc- 
tion. The General was at headquarters with a crowd 
of Scouts and scoutmasters about him, laughing and 


40 


BOY SCOUTS 


listening to what they were saying. It was a gala 
day for many Scouts. Harry was known at head- 
quarters, and he was promptly presented to the Chief 
Scout. 

“ They’ve all been telling me of their good turns,” 
the General said cheerily, shaking his hand. “ They 
do them early here in the States, it seems.” 

“ Fm afraid I haven’t done mine yet, sir,” said 
Harry, unless giving my seat to a lady in the 
Broadway car will do — until I get a chance at some- 
thing better.” 

“Came down from way uptown, eh?” said the 
General. 

Harry looked surprised. “ Ye-es; er, why?” he 
blurted. 

“ Else you wouldn’t have had any seat to give,” 
the General laughed. 

It was a small thing; but here was a man who 
had been in the country just three days, and his 
mind was ready and active and observant and re- 
tentive enough, among the multiplicity of things he 
had to remember, to know that if a boy had a seat 
in a Broadway car in the morning, he very likely 
got on near where the car started. He remembered 
reading that the General could determine whether a 
man was mean or extravagant or reckless by his gait, 
and he longed to become proficient in such a fascinat- 
ing and useful art. 

So now he watched Mr. Carleton Conne with re- 


AT PANAMA 


41 


doubled interest and curiosity. That individual in 
his rambling progress had reached a point where the 
glow streamed through one of the saloon windows, 
and he paused to glance within. He jerked his head 
back in that queer, matter-of-fact way and cocked 
it sideways, just as he had looked at Gordon. In 
the light from the window Harry could see how his 
lips were drawn tightly along the edges of his gums 
showing all his teeth, in that way that somehow 
suggests resolution. 

I wonder who that reminds me of,” he thought, 
as Mr. Conne sauntered on and disappeared. Then, 
suddenly, it came jumping into his head: “Why, 
the very man he was speaking of — Roosevelt ! ” 

He thought how quickly General Baden-Powell 
would have sized up this puzzling stranger. But the 
General was not on hand, so Harry did the best he 
could. He decided that Mr. Carleton Conne might 
possibly be bad, and might very likely be good, but 
that, at all events, he was not weak. He thought 
a little of the mysterious letter which had so shocked 
Gordon, but he decided that it must have been 
perverted out of its proper meaning by Gordon’s 
vivid and romantic imagination. Nevertheless, he 
could not quite forget it. He concluded that Mr. 
Carleton Conne was the kind of person who, if he 
made up his mind to do a thing, would do it. So 
the only question remaining was what kind of things 
Mr. Carleton Conne usually made up his mind to do. 


42 


BOY SCOUTS 


Harry did not see him again that night. After 
supper he took a constitutional on deck, whence the 
wind and cold had driven most of the passengers 
indoors. 

“ Wonder where he is? ” he mused. Then, think- 
ing of Gordon, he smiled and said, ** Probably in his 
stateroom planning murder or counting Spanish 
gold.’^ 


CHAPTER IV 


SOME HISTORY AND A LITTLE TRAGEDY 

The wind was blowing a gale as Harry strolled 
along the deck, and he turned up the collar of his 
ulster and pulled his cap down tight. He was fond 
of blustering weather, and it gave him a certain 
pleasure to be here amidst it, to feel the spray and 
to be conscious of the great ship, heedless of it all, 
going straight about her business. 

Soon he wandered indoors and down a passage, 
where he presently heard the steady click of the 
wireless. A few yards ahead a stout gentleman 
stood at a lighted doorway where there was a rail 
and a counter. As Harry approached, he could see 
the wireless operator sitting on a stool in his little 
room with his feet on a trunk, and on the apparatus 
table beside him a sandwich with one symmetrical, 
semicircular bite taken out of it. 

“ You change me two dollar,” the stout gentle- 
man said to Harry. Like most foreigners, he did 
not raise his voice at the end of the sentence and 
Harry did not know whether it was a question or a 
demand. 


43 


44 


BOY SCOUTS 


I guess I can,” said he. 

“ Yes, yes, yes,” the stranger jerked out excitedly. 
The wireless operator cast a weary look out at 
Harry, while his fingers lingered about one of the 
apparatus keys on the table. He moved it gently 
up and down, as one toys with a lead pencil while 
talking, and smiled slightly ; but whether it was from 
amusement at the stranger or at something which 
had come to him out of the blustering night, Harry 
could not make out. 

The foreigner wore a high beaver hat and an 
overcoat with a heavy fur collar. He wore also a 
pair of spectacles which sat crookedly on his nose, 
and a vest of gorgeous pattern with two rows of 
buttons that looked like real agates. His face, which 
was very fat and beefy, was much in need of shav- 
ing. His two little brown eyes looked like small 
Croton alleys, and the odd fancy occurred to Harry 
that if he could clip off one of the real agate buttons 
for a shooter he could pop those Crotons out of the 
ring in short order. But marbles were not in season. 
So he took out his brand-new wallet, in which he 
had a hundred dollars in brand-new bills, and 
handed two ones to the stranger. 

Yes, yes, yes,” said he, in rapid satisfaction 
which doubtless was intended also to include his 
thanks. At all events, it was all the thanks Harry 
got, for as soon as he had settled with the operator 
the man waddled off down the passage. 


AT PANAMA 


45 


^‘Italian?” Harry queried. 

The operator shrugged his shoulders and glanced 
at the despatch, but if its signature gave him any 
hint, he did not convey it to Harry. He had still 
one hand upon his instrument and was more at- 
tentive to it than before ; so Harry wandered out on 
deck again, putting the two-dollar bill in his pocket, 
for it seemed hardly a proper associate for the crisp, 
unwrinkled company in his wallet. Yet it served its 
turn for all that. 

He staggered along the deck, blown hither and 
thither by the wind, and stumbling from the move- 
ment of the vessel. He passed two men in heavy 
coats who were talking excitedly in the shelter of a 
passage. Harry fancied that one of them was Mr. 
Conne, but it was too dark to be certain. 

** It will have to be settled on this trip, once for 
all ; Pm not afraid, one of the men was saying, as 
Harry passed. 

The wind urged him on and presently he side- 
stepped into a passage and against a door. At first 
he thought it was locked, but it was only the force 
of the wind that kept it shut. He wrenched it open, 
and it closed behind him with a bang as he entered 
the smoking room, where several men sat about in 
big leather chairs, chatting. 

Too brisk for you, my boy? ’’ said an old gentle- 
man, cheerily. It was the same man who had paused 
on deck and smiled at the boys. 


46 


BOY SCOUTS 


‘‘ It’s pretty windy, sir,” said Harry, sitting down 
in a corner as the conversation continued. 

‘‘You smoke?” said a younger man, putting his 
hand to his vest pocket. 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Well, it’s just as well,” he said; “ glad to hear it. 
Guess you haven’t got your growth yet, have you ? ” 

“ Yes, I think I have,” said Harry. 

“ How tall are you ? ” 

“ Five feet, ten and a half.” 

“ I believe you are,” said the man, looking him 
over, the while he took a comforting whiff of his 
cigar. “ You take my advice and don’t smoke till 
you’re thirty. Make a resolution.” 

“ I don’t need to,” said Harry. “ I’m a scout 
and we don’t smoke.” 

“ Good for you,” said the man, pleasantly. 
“ What’s that motto you fellows have? ” 

“ ‘ Be prepared ’ ? ” queried Harry. 

“ Yes ; it’s a good one, too. We were just talking 
about Captain Clarke and the Oregon. He was 
prepared.” 

“ Fd like to hear more about that,” said Harry. 
“ It seems to be mixed up with the Panama Canal 
some way.” 

The young man looked at him critically but 
pleasantly, and the old gentleman (whom the others 
called Mr. Wentworth) looked at him, too. 

“ How old are you, my boy ? ” said another man. 


AT PANAMA 


47 


'' Nineteen, sir.” 

So?” 

There was something about Harry that men liked. 
They liked to have him about; they were always 
ready to talk to him, and sometimes would encourage 
him to talk and draw him out. Yet he was always 
quiet in their company and more inclined to listen 
than to talk. 

Let’s see,” said the gentleman who had done 
most of the talking; nineteen, eh? You were 
about four years old when we whipped Spain.” 

Wasn’t a whipping,” said another man; '‘it 
was more of a spanking.” 

" Yes, you were a mere baby when Captain Clarke 
came around the Horn. But there’s a lesson in that, 
my boy. There he was around at San Francisco 
when the war broke out. They ordered him to join 
the fleet in the West Indies. I think he started the 
same day he got orders — within three hours, wasn’t 
it? Well, anyway, he was prepared — that’s the 
point. And that’s what started everybody talking 
about a canal. He had to go way round Cape Horn, 
nearly fourteen thousand miles. And he did it — 
steamed all the way, full speed, and arrived in fight- 
ing trim, by the powers! I remember well the 
sensation it caused. She came plowing up the coast 
of South America and finally they sighted her — a 
mass of gray iron and black smoke, pushing up 
through the Caribbean Sea. And every single man 


48 


BOY SCOUTS 


was at his post. Every gunner stood ready with his 
sleeves up when she steamed in among the Atlantic 
fleet. Somebody asked Captain Clarke about how 
long it would be before he could report the Oregon 
in fighting trim, and he said he thought he ought 
to have ten minutes anyway ! ” 

“ Jiminy, that was fine! ” said Harry. 

You see, if she could have come through the 
Isthmus she could have cut that fourteen thousand 
miles down to four thousand. That’s what started 
the talk — and later the shovels.” 

Ye-es,” mused Mr. Wentworth, “ that Isthmus 
has been in the way a good many years — ever since 
the time of Columbus. If it hadn’t been for that, 
I suppose he’d have sailed around the world. They 
say he and some of his men pushed up one of the 
Isthmian streams in a small boat and got within 
fifteen miles of the Pacific.” 

He spoke in a gentle, pensive kind of way as 
if the sorrows and disappointments of Columbus 
affected him more than the Oregon and the Spanish 
War. 

“ Yes, but they didn’t know it,” some one sug- 
gested. 

No, that’s the sad part,” observed the old gentle- 
man, “ almost to win.” 

“He kept on trying, didn’t he?” Harry asked. 
Instinctively, he spoke in a low tone, for Mr. Went- 
worth had seemed to set him the example. 


AT PANAMA 


49 

‘‘ No, my boy, not after that. He had spent his 
whole life and grown old trying. That was during 
his fourth voyage. He was not young, like you, 
with hope and the world before him. He had noth- 
ing left but enemies and an ungrateful country. 
His star had set. The Isthmus of Panama dealt 
him the final blow. It knocked him out.” 

For a moment no one spoke, and a vision of the 
great discoverer rose in Harry’s mind. 

“ It knocked the French out, too,” said some one, 
and there followed another pause. 

'' It won’t knock Uncle Sam out,” said another, 
grimly. 

No, it won’t knock Uncle Sam out,” smiled the 
old gentleman. “ At least, not while he has tall, 
strong young men to help him,” he added, glancing 
pleasantly at Harry. 

The boy blushed. Will you — Did Columbus 
go straight home then — and die — soon ? ” he asked. 

No, my boy, he didn’t go home for two years. 
He was wrecked on the coast of Jamaica. I think 
it was the saddest part of all his sad story, sadder 
even than when they sent him home in chains.” 

Mr. Wentworth placed the tips of his fingers to- 
gether and looked musingly at the ceiling. The 
others smoked silently. And meanwhile the wind 
howled outside. 

“ It’s a great thing, my boy,” said the old man, 
to find a way.” 


50 BOY SCOUTS 

Harry smiled. The expression reminded him of 
Gordon. 

Columbus couldn’t find a way because there 
wasn’t any — at least, not there. And he couldn’t 
make a way — no one could then. Now, Uncle Sam 
is making a way with the help of men, and boys, 
who don’t give up. I sometimes think it’s better to 
go on with a good purpose, to carry out a worthy 
resolution, even if you know it will kill you. What- 
ever you do, don’t give up. I think you said you are 
nineteen? ” 

Yes, sir.” 

I wonder if you ever heard of the message to 
Garcia in our war with Spain? How President 
McKinley wanted to send a letter to Garcia who was 
somewhere in Cuba, but nobody knew where. He 
entrusted it to a man named — I can’t think of his 
name now, but he took the letter and entered the 
Cuban jungle. He risked fever, quagmire, rebels, 
and everything, but finally emerged on the other 
side of the island, having delivered his letter. I was 
just thinking of another fine fellow whose name isn’t 
mentioned in most histories — Mendez. Did you ever 
hear of him? He was a common sailor with 
Columbus in that pathetic last voyage.” 

Harry was fascinated. His eyes (they were big, 
sober eyes except when he laughed) were riveted 
upon the soft-spoken old gentleman. 

'' I wish you would tell me about him,” said he. 


AT PANAMA 


51 

I will, indeed, my boy; the knowledge of him 
may help you sometime, who can tell? ” 

Those who were in that corner of the smoking 
room formed a little group of listeners as the old 
man talked. You hear a good deal of history in the 
smoking rooms of the Panama steamers. Never 
once did Harry’s eyes leave the speaker. And as 
the vessel bore them on through wind and night 
toward the fair isles which are forever linked with 
the name of the great discoverer and with the 
memory of the old Spanish days, the boy listened to 
this story of the humble sailor, Mendez, and of 
Ovando and the poor old ‘‘ Admiral of the Ocean 
Sea.” Strangely enough, the thought haunted him 
that the knowledge of it would help him; that 
sometime, somehow, he should be brought very close 
to this old bit of fifteenth-century history. Perhaps 
it was because the speaker’s soft voice and white 
locks and fatherly smile made him seem like a 
prophet. 

“Of course, you know that when Columbus 
started on his fourth voyage it was his last forlorn 
hope. He believed still that he could find a western 
passage to Asia. He was weary and very ill. But 
that is nothing when one is full of hope and courage, 
and he still had those. With his little squadron he 
put in at San Domingo, which he had previously 
discovered, but the Spaniards refused to let him 
land. He could not understand that — naturally. 


52 


BOY SCOUTS 


No one can understand it, except a Spaniard. Well, 
he proceeded on his voyage without the provisions 
he had hoped to procure there. He explored the 
coast of the Isthmus, going up the various small 
streams. He followed the Chagres to its very 
source and it led him, not across, but into the jungle. 

'' You see, my boy. Uncle Sam’s way is different. 
He doesn’t follow the Chagres; he makes the 
Chagres follow him. There used to be a great deal 
of slavery down there in the old Spanish days. 
There is only one slave now — the Chagres River. It 
cannot lead people to death and disappointment any 
more. It has to obey its master.” 

Harry felt a thrill of patriotism and pride as 
the old gentleman continued. 

** Well, he entered and named the beautiful harbor 
of Porto Bello, but he found no passage. I dare 
say, if he had lived a few thousand years earlier 
he might have found one, for in digging the Culebra 
Cut to-day they find clamshells and petrified fish. So 
the oceans probably joined once upon a time. Well, 
the determined, indomitable old man, weak, sick, ex- 
hausted, giving his orders from the bed in his little 
cabin, pressed on, hoping against hope, while his 
company grumbled and his little ramshackle vessels 
were slowly being eaten by worms. Up and down 
the coast of the Isthmus he went, restless and eager, 
like an animal seeking escape from its cage. He 
would not give up. But finally the time came when 


AT PANAMA 


53 


he must give up for he needed food. And when he 
realized that his quest was a failure, it nearly killed 
him. ' Some day, perchance, one will find it,’ said 
he. 

'' So he turned the prows of his miserable little 
ships toward Cuba. But he never reached Cuba ; he 
had to beach his vessels on the coast of Jamaica. 
And there, in the wrecked vessels, the company lived 
for more than a year. They bartered with the 
Indians and by hook or crook kept starvation away. 
But they could not live so forever. Every wind that 
blew tore some plank from their wretched hovels on 
the beach of that desolate island. And there, with 
the waves beating about him and an awful death 
drawing grimly nearer every day, with mutiny and 
dissension among his crews, the discoverer of the 
New World lay and languished. 

Now this Italian, Mendez, had gone ashore 
every few days and bartered with the natives and 
pacified them or outwitted them, as need arose, and 
in this way or that he had procured food. For this 
purpose he had made himself a rough canoe. 
Columbus saw all this, and at last, one day, he sent 
for Mendez. 

“ ^ Diego Mendez, my son,’ said the old Admiral, 
‘ I know of your many services and most marvelous 
device wherewith you have vouchsafed us food and 
safety here in this savage land where the Lord has 
been pleased to cast us up. None of those whom I 


54 


BOY SCOUTS 


have here understand the great peril we are in ex- 
cepting you and myself. We are few in number and 
these savages are many ; moreover, our poor shelter 
giveth away each day before the storm. But I have 
thought of a remedy, Diego Mendez, my son, and 
I would beseech you how it may seem — whether 
possible or not possible. 

‘ I am minded that it is many leagues to 
Hispaniola and across a sea where is much treach- 
erous storm. And only by the exceeding grace of 
God and many prayers to the Virgin may it be 
traversed in such wise as I would fain think possible. 
In this canoe you have, my son, might some one pass 
over to Hispaniola and there, in Santo Domingo, 
procure a ship by which we may, perchance, be de- 
livered from this great peril into which we have 
fallen?’ 

'' You see,” said the old gentleman, “ what the 
poor old Admiral was driving at. But he didn’t like 
to say it right out. Hispaniola at its nearest point 
was one hundred and twenty-five miles away, and 
even if a canoe could make it, there was another 
three hundred miles through swamp and jungle to 
the Spanish settlement at San Domingo. Of course, 
Columbus knew what the Caribbean Sea was, with 
its hurricanes, treacherous as a cat. The canoe 
would have to go through what they call the Wind- 
ward Passage, between those two islands, a rough, 
treacherous expanse of water with a continual cross- 


AT PANAMA 


55 


current to keep one out of his course. We’ll pass 
right through there ourselves in two or three days. 

“ Well, now, of course, Mendez knew what the 
old Admiral meant when he said ‘ some one.’ He 
meant just that same reckless, daring, vain, devil- 
may-care sailor who was standing before him. 

“ Mendez was a regular hero, and he believed in 
all the pomp and circumstance of heroism. He was 
fond of glittering uniforms and high-sounding 
names, and I suspect that he liked an audience and 
applause and liked to have the stage properly set for 
his deeds of valor. I think you’re apt to find those 
traits along with great recklessness, and for my part 
I rather like such blustering accompaniment. At all 
events, Mendez answered Columbus this way: 

‘ Don Christopher, Admiral,’ said he, ‘ the 
danger in which we are placed I well know and am 
much perplexed at our extremity. As to what you 
propose, I hold it not merely difficult, but impos- 
sible; for to traverse a sea of forty leagues in a frail 
canoe would be a peril I doubt none would under- 
take. Indeed, I know not who there is who. would 
adventure upon so extreme a peril.’ 

‘‘ Then neither of them spoke until the old Ad- 
miral finally said, ‘ You are right, Diego Mendez, 
my son; I know of none who would adventure.’ 

Then spoke Diego Mendez. ‘ Don Christopher, 
Viceroy of the Indies and Admiral of the Ocean 
Sea,’ he said, ‘ methinks it were best for us to be 


BOY SCOUTS 


56 

sure there are none. Therefore, I beg that you 
would summon all our people, high and low, and 
propose this enterprise to each of them. And at the 
very last you shall so approach Diego Mendez and 
he will make you answer.' 

“ ‘ That I will do, Diego Mendez, my son,' said 
the old Admiral. And that he did and none would 
venture. So last he came to Diego Mendez and 
he said, ‘ Diego Mendez, I have bespoke them all 
and none would venture. How say you, Diego 
Mendez ? ' 

Then Diego Mendez, away back in the fifteenth 
century, said in a different language almost exactly 
the same words that you, my boy, said a few mo- 
ments ago, in answer to one of these gentlemen’s 
questions, and it was that which reminded me of 
this incident. 

‘‘ ' Sehor,' he said, ‘ my good master and Ad- 
miral of the Ocean Sea, I am prepared/ " 

“ The Scouts’ motto,” murmured Harry. 

‘‘ Yes — those are splendid words.” 

And he went, sir? ” 

“ Yes, he went ; he went in that little frail, ram- 
shackle canoe. The adventure was one to fill a 
book. He started several times and had to return. 
Finally, he induced several Indians to go with him. 
But they sickened from the exposure, from hunger 
and thirst, and were useless. The eastern extremity 
of Jamaica, where he set forth over that wild ex- 


AT PANAMA 


57 


panse of Caribbean Sea, is now my home. If you 
should ever visit Jamaica, my boy, and should care 
to venture so far from Kingston as Garden Harbor, 
I can show you, near my estate, the little stretch of 
beach from which Mendez set forth. Grantley is 
the name of my place. It is a fruit plantation.” 
You live in Jamaica, then? ” 

Yes ; but the point is, and this is what I wanted 
to show you, that there is no nationality, or creed, 
or degree, or anything else when one is prepared. 
You can be prepared in any language and in any 
age. Whatever you make up your mind to do, do 
it. That is the spirit which is digging the canal. 
And that was the spirit which enabled Diego Men- 
dez to cross that sea. What is that little expres- 
sion ? ‘ Be sure you’re right, then go ahead — and 
don’t give up. 

“ Well, at the end of many days (I think he was 
three days crossing the sea) Diego Mendez, hungry 
and emaciated, his clothing in rags, unrecognizable, 
half naked, with his flesh torn by bramble and 
thicket and his skin yellow with fever, appeared like 
a ghastly specter before Ovando, the Governor of 
Hispaniola, and told him of the plight of Co- 
lumbus.” 

There was a moment’s silence, broken by one of 
the listeners : ‘‘ What’d Ovando do ? ” 

“ He did nothing — not till several months had 
elapsed and he was forced to.” 


58 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Nice kind of man, eh? ” 

'' He was like all Spaniards,” observed the old 
gentleman, softly; I see a great many, and they 
are the same yesterday, to-day, and forever. I never 
yet knew a Spaniard who — ” 

He stopped short, for at that moment the door 
opened and the stout man with the fur coat and the 
Croton alley eyes came inside and sat down. His 
entrance turned the conversation into another chan- 
nel, and Harry soon went to his stateroom. He lay 
awake for some time thinking over the old gentle- 
man’s narrative. He liked Mr. Wentworth im- 
mensely, and he hoped that his “ adventures,” as 
Gordon would call them, might indeed lead him to 
Jamaica so that he might visit Grantley. The mo- 
tion of the vessel also kept him awake for a time, 
and when he finally fell asleep he had a strange 
dream. 

He dreamed that he and Mr. Wentworth were 
shipwrecked on a desert island and that Mr. Carle- 
ton Conne courageously volunteered to go to 
Panama on the back of an alligator and notify Col- 
onel Goethals. Just as he was apprising the Colonel 
pf their predicament, the stout man with the Croton 
alley eyes approached from behind and pushed him 
into Culebra Cut, where he was washed along the 
Canal to the Gatun Dam. Here he met Balboa, who 
lent him his barrel. In this Mr. Conne floated back 
to the desert island, and they were all presently 


AT PANAMA 


59 


rescued by the battleship Oregon, which happened 
to be passing in command of Christopher Columbus. 

The next morning there was a very dainty pas- 
senger list printed in gold, at each plate in the din- 
ing saloon. Among the names were three which 
Harry checked with a lead pencil. These were 
Josiah E. Wentworth, Grantley, Garden Harbor, 
Jamaica; Carleton Conne, New York City; and 
Alonzo Zamora, Panama City. He was not per- 
fectly certain that the last name belonged to his fur- 
coated acquaintance, but it chanced to be the only 
foreign name in the list except those which were 
manifestly German and one that was manifestly 
French. 

Harry had, I need not say, solemnly promised 
Marjorie Dan forth that lie would send her picture 
postcards of everything; so during the morning he 
sat himself down in the writing ro(>m and addressed 
half a dozen to her as a starter, showing the main 
saloon, the promenade deck, and so forth. In addi- 
tion he mailed her the passenger list, with a few 
words written on the back : 

Dear Marjorie : — 

No tarantulas or alligators so far. Weather nice 
and cold. No wish to be a what do you call it.'' 
Will let you know if I have. Have made three ac- 
quaintances — names checked. First I like very 
much; last I don’t like at all — Spanish, I think. 


6o 


BOY SCOUTS 


Second one I don’t know whether I like or not. 
Show this to Gordon. 

Best wishes, 

Harry. 

If he had waited ten minutes before dropping his 
mail , in the letter box he might have been able to 
express himself more conclusively in regard to the 
second name. Indeed, the back of the passenger 
list would not have held all he would have had to 
say. 

It was a clear, crisp morning, and Harry started 
forward along the deck intending to deposit his 
cards and letter in the box at the foot of the grand 
stairway near the purser’s office. The deck was 
lined with people in steamer chairs, covered with 
furs and blankets and with caps pulled down tight 
over their ears. It looked like a picture of an open- 
air sanatorium. Farther on some young men and 
girls had marked the deck with chalk into squares, 
each numbered, and were scaling plates into the 
various spaces. It seemed to be great fun, for the 
motion of the vessel confounded their calculations. 
They asked Harry to join them, and he said he 
would like to when he had mailed his letter. Still 
farther along, the chairs and benches became more 
sparse. And then, in an isolated spot forward, he 
passed a bench on which sat Mr. Carleton Conne 
and a younger man. Mr. Conne nodded briefly to 


AT PANAMA 


6i 


Harry and went on talking with his companion. 
The wind was toward Harry and he heard, or 
thought he heard, a little of what was said as he 
passed. 

He knows me,” Mr. Conne said with that 
clenching of his teeth and drawing of his lips apart 
that had made Harry nervous. “ What I say Fll 
do, Fll do, and that if I hear another word from 
him. So you can tell him that. Is he coming out 
or not?” 

Harry did not learn whether the person in ques- 
tion was coming out or not; but somehow he had 
the idea that if he did come out there would be 
trouble. This notion possessed him so much that 
instead of returning to join the players he strolled 
along the deck on the opposite side and forward 
again to where the pair had been sitting. They 
were not there, and he strolled far into the bow, to 
a deserted stretch of deck. Here was a chain 
across, with a sign hanging from its center which 
bore the words, 

Passengers Not Allowed Beyond This Point 

Beyond it was a little deckhouse, and from the other 
side of that he heard voices. Possessed by the 
thought that something wrong was in the wind, he 
passed the chain and stole noiselessly along in the 
shadow beside the house. Beyond it the sun was 


62 


BOY SCOUTS 


streaming upon the deck, and close by the rail, a 
few feet forward of the sunny side of the little 
house, Harry beheld a sight which made him 
shudder. 

There was Carleton Conne, his fingers fixed like 
a vise upon the throat of another man, who was 
struggling frantically to avoid being thrust over 
the rail. The expression on the face of the man 
Conne was one of heartless, cold determination. 
His teeth were set tight. Against him, his wretched 
victim, a young fellow with yellow, curling hair, 
wrenched and struggled in vain. He was almost 
halfway over the rail, his mouth gasping and his 
head rolling loose, when Harry, recovering from his 
sudden shock of surprise and horror, cast off his 
ulster and, springing forward, thrust himself be- 
tween the pair, wrenched the assailant from his vic- 
tim, and threw him to the deck. 

“ Now I know,” Harry panted, as he stood over 
him ; ‘‘ I — I — know what you are now — yovL — 
you—” 


CHAPTER V 


TO INTRODUCE VASCO NUNEZ DE BALBOA 

For a moment Carleton Conne lay prone, as if 
stunned, with Harry standing over him. Then, 
rolling sideways and propping his head on his fore- 
arm, he called, in his brisk, businesslike tone : 

“ Did you get that, George? ” 

In bewilderment, Harry saw the light-haired fel- 
low whom he had rescued from a terrible death, 
leaning against the rail, shaking with laughter. A 
few feet away, on the sunny side of the little deck- 
house, stood another young man, and near him the 
silent but truthful witness which was to make 
Harry’s deed renowned in the land — a motion-pic- 
ture camera ! 

You bet I did ! ” laughed the fellow called 
George. 

‘‘ Good ! ” said Carleton Conne, rising and ar- 
ranging his disordered scarf. Now, you’re a real 
hero,” he added, turning to Harry. 

Harry stood gaping. He wished that the deck 
would open and swallow him. 

'' I — I’m an infernal fool, you mean,” he stam- 
mered. ‘‘ I spoiled it, I suppose.” 

63 


64 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Not at all — just the thing; we’ll end it right 
there. Have to change the name, that’s all. ‘ Saved 
by the Scout ’ ? No, that wouldn’t do, you’re not 
wearing your suit. Let’s see, now. Got a pin, 
Andy? Good. You pulled me all apart, my boy. I 
feel like a daisy when the girl gets through with 
it, — ^ He loves me, he loves me not ’ — let’s see, 
now, — ‘ The Ocean Hero ’ ? No, that’s no good. — 
‘ The Tall Tourist ’ is better.” 

“ No, please don’t,” said Harry. 

“ No? Well, time enough for that, but you’re in 
for it, now, my boy.” 

But — I’d like to explain,” said Harry. Then 
perhaps I won’t seem quite such a — such a fool! 
My friend Gordon, the little fellow, started me — 
he — ” 

“Mighty nice little fellow, too; George, you 
should have seen him.” 

“ Then I thought I heard something you said 
when I passed you on deck — something about your 
settling it on this trip and not being afraid and — 
oh, well, I put this and that together and — ” 

“ And they didn’t fit,” said Mr. Conne, cheer- 
fully. 

“ I’m a fool, Mr. Conne.” 

“ Oh, no, you’re not. Here, let me make you 
boys known to each other; Andy Breen, this is Mr. 
Arnold, who rescued you from the would-be assas- 
sin; shake hands. Mr. Arnold, this is George 


AT PANAMA 


65 

Warren. Here, George, come and meet the hero. 
That’s right. You got the snaps, too, George? 
Good. We’ve got him where he can’t get away 
from us.” 

Mr. Conne was in high good humor, and Harry 
could not long remain embarrassed or abashed in the 
full sunlight of his brisk, rattling, genial talk. It 
seemed as if he had known him for years. The 
others were nearer his own age, so that Mr. Conne, 
'^though but a young man himself, appeared to be 
the responsible member of the party. The two 
strolled along the deck together. 

I’ll tell you how it was,” Mr. Conne said, and 
then you won’t be so puzzled. Andy’s as fine a 
boy as ever lived. He’s just twenty-one; been to 
Labrador, Africa, Mexico, Montclair, New Jersey, 
and goodness knows where all ! Sketch ? Why, he 
can juggle with a pencil, give it a few twirls and 
there’s a landscape ! Born in him. He’s a wonder ! 
He set his heart on this thing and now, for all I can 
learn aboard, we’re going to meet a snag on the 
Isthmus. I doubt if we can get permission to film 
up anything inside the Zone. That’s my honest 
opinion. The government has a picture show of 
its own for the benefit of employees. Well, now, 
don’t you ever mention this, understand? Andy 
did some foolish talking about trying to buy a priv- 
ilege, and he got quite stubborn; said money would 
do anything. Well, my money won’t; and so I told 


66 


BOY SCOUTS 


him, and he kicked up. Andy’s just a boy or he 
wouldn’t talk such nonsense. You can’t buy any 
privileges down there. Why, there isn’t any more 
graft than there is yellow fever — the Old Man sees 
to that. It’s clean all kinds of ways. I’ve seen the 
Colonel — seen his eyes — and I think I come pretty 
near knowing him.” He paused. “ And I come 
pretty near knowing myself, too.” 

I wish,” said Harry, that I had come a little 
nearer to knowing you.” 

Why, Great Scott,” continued Mr. Conne, 
Central America ought to be big enough for us to 
stretch ourselves in. The Canal has been pretty well 
pictured up, anyway, if it comes to that. But the 
little fellow — what’s his name — was right. There 
are other things down there. I’m going to take the 
boys down Darien way — San Bias country — and 
film up some of those Indians. We’ll push up into 
the jungle. Why, let me tell you something; do you 
know there’s a canal across already down near 
Colombia?” 

What? ” said Harry. 

** Sure as you live ! There’s a series of connect- 
ing rivers, deep enough for canoe travel. There’s 
something you didn’t know! You can go right 
across to the Pacific — hop, skip, and a jump. 
We’ll do that, and film up and snap up every- 
thing.” 

Snap up?” 


AT PANAMA 67 

Yes, snapshots. George got a snapshot of you. 
They come in handy for ads and posters.” 

Oh,” said Harry. I hope mine won’t.” 

“ Well, we’ll see.” 

“ Do you expect to be long on the Isthmus, Mr. 
Conne? ”' 

Year or so, more or less. I want to do the 
Balboa country — that’s down Darien way, you 
know, fifty or seventy-five miles east of the ditch. 
That’s where he crossed in fifteen something or 
other. First man to go over.” 

A gentleman in the saloon last night was telling 
about Columbus, how he tried for a passage across 
the Isthmus.” 

“ Yes, poor old fellow, he got stung. You see, 
he was hunting for a ship passage. Balboa, a few 
years later, cut his way across with a hatchet. It 
was a great trick.” 

You seem to know all about the history of the 
Isthmus.” 

“ Yes, I’ve got E plus, as they say in school. 
— Why can’t you go down to the Darien with us 
when we go ? We’ll fix the time to suit. Let’s see, 
you’ll be off on leave in ten months. Six weeks, I 
think you get.” 

'' Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Conne — I guess I’ll stick 
right at my work.” 

‘‘Do, eh? Well, I guess Uncle Sam will have 
something to say about that. He’ll make you go for 


68 


BOY SCOUTS 


the benefit of your health. He’s a mighty nice boss. 
What are you going to be? ” 

“ Just a clerk, but I hope to get a chance on the 
outside, some.” 

“ You will.” 

They had come to the place where the young peo- 
ple were playing, and here the two parted, Harry 
joining the players. 

For the rest of the voyage he found himself 
mostly among the young people, where, once or 
twice, he met Andrew Breen and George Warren in 
the deck games. His efforts to talk with old Mr. 
Wentworth again seemed always to be futile. He 
had his family with him and was nearly always 
occupied with others, though he bowed pleasantly 
to Harry whenever they met. And Mr. Conne was 
always busy in the writing room or shut in his state- 
room or talking with the men passengers. He saw 
enough of Mr. Alonzo Zamora, who was never in 
the company of any one, but he did not care to 
improve that person’s acquaintance. 

On the afternoon of the third day his thoughts 
were again turned back to the old romantic Spanish 
days. Approaching a little group of passengers 
who were looking and pointing from the rail, some 
with glasses, his gaze fell upon a little mass of land 
with a white strip along its near side ; and he looked 
at it more intently when he heard one of the party 
say that it was the island of San Salvador, where 


AT PANAMA 


69 

the great discoverer had first set foot in the New 
World. They were passing through the crooked 
island passage in the Bahamas, and soon the spot of 
land diminished to a mere speck, but Harry watched 
it as long as he could make it out. 

The next day they were plowing through the 
Windward Passage of the West Indies. The water 
had now grown blue and seemed more transparent. 
The air was balmy and fragrant as Harry stood at 
the rail watching the flying fish at play. He was 
now, indeed, in the tropics, — that strange region of 
enchantment, the scene of so much bravery and of 
so much tragedy and of so much mystery and 
romance. Far to his left, beneath fleecy clouds, he 
could distinguish what seemed to be a mountainous 
promontory. He took from his wallet the little 
folder of the steamship line and studied its map. 
If they were now passing through the Windward 
Passage the land he saw must be the western ex- 
tremity of Haiti, the termination of that long, thin 
arm that reaches westward toward Jamaica. If it 
were not for that long, thin arm the nearest point 
of Haiti would be two hundred instead of one 
hundred miles from Jamaica. And here, upon these 
very waters, across the path that this great ship was 
following and toward that black and mountainous 
headland to the east, had plied the sailor, Mendez, 
in his little frail canoe more than four centuries ago. 
Harry sauntered across the deck and concentrating 


70 


BOY SCOUTS 


his gaze looked far westward for the shore of 
Jamaica. But this he could not see. How long 
must Mendez have been out of sight of land, he 
wondered? And what kind of place must this 
western peninsula of Haiti now be? And how 
would it seem to be paddling such a little bark across 
this vast expanse of treacherous water? 

During the night the vessel must have rounded 
the southeastern coast of Jamaica, for shortly after 
daylight they were at the wharf in Kingston Harbor. 
When Harry realized this on awakening, he has- 
tened to the gangway in time to see old Mr. 
Wentworth go ashore. Two ladies and a young 
man and a girl accompanied him, and a train of 
attendants followed with his luggage. 

Good-by, Mr. Wentworth,” said Harry, reach- 
ing over the rail of the gangplank. 

Oh, good-by, my boy,” said the old gentle- 
man, surprised but cordial, as he laid down a 
bag and reached for Harry’s hand. “ You’re up 
early.” 

Yes, sir,” laughed Harry. “ You see. I’m pre- 
pared.” 

“ Ha, ha, ha, so you remember that, eh? Well, 
good-by to you, my boy, and good luck; and don’t 
forget Grantley.” 

'' No, sir, I won’t.” 

It was plain the old gentleman was of some conse- 
quence in the English isle, from the reception he 


AT PANAMA 


71 


received on the wharf and the deference paid to him. 
He was not pestered by aggressive negroes like the 
other arrivals, nor forced willy-nilly to one of the 
ramshackle buggies waiting. He and his party 
made their way to a handsome carriage, and that was 
the last Harry saw of them. 

There was not time to go far in Kingston, so he 
amused himself by watching the little negro urchins 
who dived for coins in the clear waters of the har- 
bor. From the steamer^s rail and the adjacent 
quays, handfuls of coppers were cast into the water, 
while to encourage the business one little ebony 
delegate scurried about the deck jingling a handful 
of small coins and offering to change nickels, dimes, 
and quarters into cents. 

‘‘ Plenty penny, plenty penny,’" he would say, 
showing and jingling his money. Harry took ten 
cents’ worth of pennies and casting them into the 
water watched the scramble and splash that fol- 
lowed. He heard one of the ship’s officers tell a 
passenger that the harbor, like all tropical harbors, 
was infested with sharks; that scarce a week passed 
but one of these laughing little negroes descended, 
never to rise again. 

“You can always tell,” he said; “a little red 
comes up to the surface — he’s usually a mile off by 
that time.” This dreadful fact did not seem to in- 
terfere with the business, but it spoiled Harry’s 
enjoyment of it and he walked away. 


72 


BOY SCOUTS 


Three days more and they were approaching the 
Isthmus. A thrill of expectation came to Harry at 
the first sight of the coast of Panama, as he realized 
that he was now in the torrid zone, though some- 
what above the equator, and that presently he should 
actually see the Canal. Large masses of ominous 
dark cloud drifted slowly over the low, light green 
hills that rose, one above another, from the seacoast. 
It was not the green of northern foliage, but vivid 
and glossy as if it had been varnished. Now and 
then a jutting headland could be seen, covered thick 
with vegetation, and at intervals a deep bay, indent- 
ing the coast, and little islands from which, here and 
there, a lonely palm tree rose, looking at a distance 
like a modern drop light with a fancy shade, and at 
shorter range like a feather duster stuck in the 
earth. In the distance was the mouth of the Chagres 
River, and he knew that five miles inland along its 
channel the mighty Gatun Dam stretched between 
the hills to check the course of the river when all 
was ready and Uncle Sam should say the word. 

Straight ahead was the harbor of Colon, with 
Manzanillo lighthouse rising above it. On nearer 
approach the wharves and harbor looked like other 
wharves and harbors the world over. There was a 
mammoth white Hamburg- American liner moored 
at her pier, whose passengers, mostly tourists, were 
beguiling themselves with the same pastime that 
Harry had seen at Jamaica. Into the water went 


AT PANAMA 


73 

the coins, and in splashed the shining black urchins 
after them. 

It was while the vessel was docking that Harry’s 
attention was attracted from this perilous, but joy- 
ous, occupation, which with a shudder he refrained 
from encouraging, to a strange object that stood 
some yards out from the wharves. It had two 
smokestacks and looked something like a ferryboat 
except that a long pipe line, like an unearthed water 
main, extending from it, inscribed an enormous 
circle over the water, and winding its way across a 
stretch of shore disappeared in the brush. The part 
of the pipe between the shore and the strange ap- 
paratus was held above the surface by floats chained 
under it at intervals. This great pipe line, especially 
near the apparatus, quivered and vibrated like a 
monster wounded serpent. But the chief thing 
about the whole affair was its noise. No such noise 
had ever before assailed Harry’s ears. Compared 
to it, the noise of a saw-mill would have been a 
gentle whisper. The roar of a lion would have been 
a soft lullaby. 

Some of the passengers from the Hamburg- 
American cruiser were evidently visiting this out- 
landish thing, for a trim little launch stood along- 
side it and here too, from its white sides, shone in 
bold relief the black tumbling forms of the little 
diving urchins, who had apparently gone along to 
carry on a sort of branch business. 


74 


BOY SCOUTS 


Good-by, Harry.” 

The boy turned. “ Oh, good-by, Mr. Conne ; you 
going ashore? Tm awfully sorry — shall I see 
you — ” 

“ Yes, we’re going to ship aboard the first train 
and rustle right over to Panama. You can’t go 
ashore yet, I suppose, till the Doctor gets through 
with you. Good-by. Remember, we’re at the Tivoli 
up on Ancon Hill — right near the hospital. Come 
over and see us now, won’t you? Come and bring 
your knitting. We’ll be off here and there, but the 
Tivoli’s our headquarters — at least, till the dry 
season, when we can camp. Any time you happen 
to have the blues, tired, homesick, or anything like 
that, just come right over and have a chat about 
old times.” 

** It does seem as if I’d known you all my life, 
Mr. Conne,” said Harry, grasping the outstretched 
hand. 

“ That’s right, so you have.” 

“ And I’m glad you called me Harry. I haven’t 
heard that for seven days. It sounded good.” 

“ Sure enough! You didn’t suppose I’d call you 
Professor Arnold, did you — you great big kid?” 
he added, giving Harry a thump. “ You stay here 
and watch the vacuum cleaner; go down in about 
fifteen minutes, they’ll be ready for you by that 
time.” 


Is that a vacuum cleaner ? ” 


AT PANAMA 


75 


“ That’s what it is. This is house-cleaning day, 
you know — Friday. Colonel always has the bottom 
of the harbor tidied up a bit. Pm coming, George; 
just saying good-by to Harry.” 

Harry said good-by to Andrew Breen and George 
Warren, who came up, and then he was alone. Yet, 
somehow, he felt that he was not alone on the 
Isthmus as long as Mr. Carleton Conne remained 
there. He knew the inspectors were busy with the 
laboring class, a number of whom, chiefly negroes, 
had been brought from Jamaica. They were to be 
silver men, so called because they were to receive an 
hourly wage and would be paid in silver. Harry 
was on the gold roll, and was to receive one hundred 
dollars a month. His lodging would be furnished 
him free by his generous boss. 

While he was lingering on deck, awaiting the 
leisure of Uncle Sam’s inspectors, he became aware 
of a sudden excitement on the deck of the lumbering 
craft near by. Tourists rushed to the rail, and pres- 
ently several men in overalls came on deck. No one 
on the Ancon seemed to be aware of the commotion, 
for most of the passengers were going ashore. But 
it took Harry scarce a moment to realize what had 
happened. One of those wretched little divers, try- 
ing to make his poor living in the only way he knew 
how, must have gone down for the last time. Hor- 
rified, Harry gave a quick glance for the ominous 
spot of red on the surface of the water, but none 


BOY SCOUTS 


76 

was visible. Then, realizing that the last forlorn 
hope lay in instant action, he threw off his hat and 
coat, wrenched off his shoes, and was over the rail 
in a flash. He had donned light clothing in defer- 
ence to the tropical weather, and it impeded him but 
slightly. If there was one thing more than another 
in which he was proficient, it was swimming. His 
jack-knife was in his pocket, and opening it he held 
it in his teeth. If the shark were still below, he 
knew how to stab him. He swam under the pipe 
line, and it seemed as if the vibration and noise had 
lessened. As he approached the apparatus, sortie 
tourists called frantically to him, but he did not 
heed them — scarcely heard them. He took his knife 
from his teeth just before going down, so as to keep 
his mouth tight shut, and at that moment a man in 
a dirty khaki suit yelled to him, seeming to call him 
a fool. That was the last he heard. 

Instantly he was below, the clear water on which 
he had counted became murky and thick. He heard 
a slow, pulsating sound, which he thought was in 
his own head. He was caught in a kind of whirl- 
pool and drawn down, down. The throbs came at 
longer intervals — stopped. His head was whirling, 
and he seemed to be groping in mud. He looked 
up, but could see nothing through the thick water. 
His head was bursting — he could stand it no 
longer — he must breathe. With his first half-con- 
scious stroke to rise out of this apparent earthquake, 


AT PANAMA 


77 


he touched something hard. His hand went around 
the edge of it. It seemed like a barrel. Something 
soft impeded the movement of his hand round its 
circumference. As much as he could be conscious 
of anything in his half-suffocated state, he thought 
it was something which was, or had been, alive. He 
tugged at it and wrenched it loose. It was no easy 
matter, for some strange power seemed to hold it 
there. Whatever it was, he got it and keeping tight 
hold on it with one hand, he exerted all his ebbing 
strength and rose through the mud and scum to the 
surface. 

They hauled him aboard, and the next thing he 
was conscious of, some one was bathing his face 
gently and saying, ‘‘ You all right? 

Sure,’’ he answered, just a little dizzy; what 
was it? ” 

“ You brought him up, my boy. Did you think 
you could stab a suction dredge?” 

He — he alive ? ” 

Just about.” 

He was lying on a bunk in the cabin of the mam- 
moth dredge. 

‘‘ That — that’s the second mistake I made,” he 
said, weakly and ruefully, to the dredgers and 
tourists who crowded about. I thought — I — two 
men were struggling and — it was just a moving pic- 
ture.” 

‘‘ Yes,” said a man, gently, as if to humor him. 


78 


BOY SCOUTS 


“We all make mistakes. / made a mistake. I 
called you a fool.’' 

He soon learned all there was to know. There 
had been no shark. The little fellow had been 
drawn into the suction pipe of the great dredge and 
the machinery had been stopped just in time to leave 
him limp and half dead across the edge of the pipe 
where Harry found him, and where he had clung 
desperately as the suction lessened. Harry was not 
long in recovering and went back with the tourists 
in their little launch to the Ancon. He was greeted 
by a man in white, who held something which 
looked like the pair of rubber tubes through which 
one listens to a pay phonograph. He smiled at 
Harry and said, “ Well, my boy, you made a good 
beginning.” 

“ I hope that isn’t a suction dredge,” said Harry. 

“ No, that’s just a stethoscope. How do you 
feel?” 

“ Pretty dirty.” 

“ All right otherwise ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

The physician went down to Harry’s stateroom 
with him while he opened his steamer trunk and 
got out some clean, dry clothes. The rest of his 
inspections were all made and perhaps for that rea- 
son, as also because of Harry’s exploit, he chatted 
pleasantly with him while he made the examina- 
tion required by law, but which, he observed, he 


AT PANAMA 


79 


guessed was scarcely necessary.’^ Indeed, his ex- 
amination of chest and lungs was most perfunctory. 

Guess you’ve proved that already,” he said. 
'' You smoke cigarettes ? ” 

No, sir.” 

Smoke at all ? ” 

No, sir.” 

Any bad habits — besides trying to fight suction 
dredges? ” 

Can’t think of any, sir.” 

“I believe you; parents both living?” he asked, 
jotting down the answers. “ Ever had pneumonia — 
typhoid ? ” 

No, sir.” 

Eyesight good? Wear glasses? ’’ 

Yes, sir — no, I don’t.” 

‘‘Any physical defects?” 

“ I — I’ve got a tattoo mark on my arm,” said 
Harry, rather hesitatingly. 

“ You have? Well, you’re a great boy,” said the 
Doctor. It was plain he did not approve of tattoo- 
ing but that he very much approved of Harry. 

“ Let’s see your appointment,” he said after he 
had vaccinated him, according to regulations. 

Harry showed his appointment, together with his 
Civil Service certificate and his photograph for 
identification. For it is only in stories that a boy 
can march into the Canal Zone and secure a posi- 
tion offhand. If Uncle Sam is a good boss, he is 


8o 


BOY SCOUTS 


also a rather particular one, and comes pretty near 
to knowing who it is he is hiring. The Commis- 
sion’s doctor had examined Harry before he left 
home, but that did not obviate the inspection which 
all must undergo at the Isthmus. 

He was told to present his Civil Service certificate 
together with his appointment and photograph at 
the Department of Construction and Engineering 
at Culebra. They may send you over to Empire, 
I can’t tell,” the Doctor added. For when one’s 
appointment calls for simply a clerkship, he is as- 
signed to the department where his services are 
most needed at the time. 

'' After you get your assignment, take it to the 
Quartermaster’s Department at Culebra, and they’ll 
assign your quarters. Have you any money ? ” 

I have about a hundred dollars, sir.” 

All right, because you don’t get paid for a 
month. Don’t try to stab any more suction 
dredges,” he added, and the next minute the genial 
inspector was standing on the wharf, listening to a 
score of excited negroes who were protesting against 
his rejection of their services. 

It appeared from what Harry heard, as he stood 
by, that no negro might go back to work on the 
Canal after once leaving and that Uncle Sam had a 
little private way of his own for spotting ” former 
employees. This was nothing else than the vacci- 
nation mark, which consisted of three little spots in 


AT PANAMA 


8i 


triangular form instead of one large one, and it was 
as good as a play to see the Doctor making a rapid 
re-inspection to satisfy them, and rejecting them 
one after another, on the testimony of these little 
telltale marks. He didn’t vaccinate me that way,” 
thought Harry. “ Maybe he thought I wasn’t 
likely to prove a ‘ what do you call it.’ ” He smiled, 
thinking of Marjorie Danforth. 

The vessel was now pretty well cleared, and there 
was not another train across for an hour. So Harry 
amused himself with a glimpse of the city of Colon. 
But before he left the shore he examined more care- 
fully the great dredge which had all but swallowed 
him up and which was now working away again 
with ear-splitting din. '' I might have been sucked 
up by that under-water pipe and forced through that 
snaky-looking thing to a dump a mile or two away,” 
he thought; for he had seen already the way, or one 
way, by which his new boss dredged out the harbors 
and cleared a deep-water passage from the mouth of 
the canal to the open sea. 

The excitement of the voyage over and his new 
acquaintance gone, Harry felt quite alone in the 
little Atlantic port. It was not a nice place. The 
streets were narrow and muddy, and a muggy 
dampness prevailed which made him depressed and 
uncomfortable. He saw none of the parti-colored 
vegetation, none of the things which his boyish im- 
agination had associated with this romantic tropic 


82 


BOY SCOUTS 


land. It might have been the squalid section of any 
northern city, or again it seemed like some cheap 
resort where useless trinkets are thrust before one’s 
face at double their value. 

He waded along through muck and mud, past a 
wharf where dirty negroes were loading bananas, 
past ramshackle, tumble-down sheds and houses 
with pigs and dogs wallowing in the adjacent filth. 
Garments were strung on lines across the unpaved 
streets from one unpainted hovel to another, as if 
the deluded citizens expected the sun to come out in 
this dismal, murky land and dry them. Now and 
then he forded the mud on clapboards which had 
fallen from the buildings or on barrel staves which 
the accommodating residents had laid for that pur- 
pose. As he plodded on past all the filthy impedi- 
ments, pausing ankle deep in mud to note the 
“ sights ” of this Isthmian city, the lines kept run- 
ning in his head, 

A tidy man is Uncle Sam, with coat and waistcoat gray. 

He keeps his city nice and clean, and sweeps it every day. 

Nit, not,” thought Harry, not this one.” 

But he was soon of another opinion, for even 
here in this wretched hole Uncle Sam would shortly 
descend with his broom and mop and paving stones, 
and startle the inhabitants with such a spring clean- 
ing as they had never dreamed of. The precious 
barrels of stagnant water were doomed; every one 


AT PANAMA 


83 

of them would be thrown into the harbor. Harry’s 
sturdy old boss, if he had only known it, was com- 
ing down the line like a conquering hero with his 
gun over his shoulder, and his gun was filled with 
disinfectant. But Harry’s boss could not do every- 
thing at once. It is a long job cleaning house. 

On a corner (if you could call it a corner where 
two rivers of mud intersected) a ragged negro girl 
tried to sell him a watch chain. Dollar — ’Merican 
money,” she said. Dirty Chinamen and suspicious, 
frowning Spaniards eyed him from their open doors 
or unglazed windows. A man, some kind of for- 
eigner, wanted to sell him a lottery ticket. People, 
mostly negroes, lay about, indolent and languid. 
Those who were not too lazy to move were carrying 
things on their heads. Every one was sullen and 
eyed him suspiciously. When he asked how to get 
into Cristobal (which is the American suburb of 
Colon) one man paid no attention and another re- 
fused to tell him unless he would buy something 
carved out of a cocoanut shell. It looked like a 
jack-o’-lantern and cost “ Two dollar — ’Merican 
money.” One or two spoke threateningly in an un- 
dertone as he passed; some jeered with coarse jokes 
and laughter. He was evidently not welcome. 

After a little he felt a big drop on his face, then 
another, and he backed into a shelter just in time to 
escape a drenching almost equal to the wetting he 
had had in the harbor. There was no forewarning 


84 


BOY SCOUTS 


of the storm, and the rain came down in streams — 
bucketfuls. It was a deluge. He had never seen it 
rain so hard in his life. Looking through the tor- 
rent to the shacks across the way, it looked almost 
the same to him as when he dived under water. He 
soon learned that this happened every day except 
from May to December, and even then it hap- 
pened — whenever it wanted to. 

It had come on so suddenly that he had backed 
into the shelter without so much as asking leave, 
and it now occurred to him that in all probability he 
was not welcome there. From these uncomfortable 
doubts he was presently relieved by a voice behind 
him which uttered the single word, Hello.” 

Amazed at this cheerful hint of hospitality, he 
turned, and became conscious not only of the owner 
of the voice, but also of the kind of place in which 
he had taken refuge. It was the porch or shed of a 
miserable shanty. The two shutters of a window 
just behind him were open at a right angle. Across 
the top of these, from one to the other, lay a stick 
of bamboo, and exactly in the middle of this stick 
sat a green parrot eying him shrewdly. The word 
was the first suggestion of civility which the boy had 
heard since he* wandered into this wretched quarter, 
and it gave him a grateful and friendly feeling 
toward this diminutive host, which seemed not at all 
disconcerted at his approach. 

Hello, yourself,” he said cheerily. 


AT PANAMA 85 

“ Poor — hello — pretty rain/' said the parrot. 

Poor bananas out in the rain/' 

“ Oh, that doesn't hurt the bananas any, Cap," 
said Harry, trying to stroke the bird. “ Don't you 
worry about that." 

Fred — red — red — Fred — red balanas in the 
rain, under the bal-ana tree," said the parrot. 

So? " said Harry. Well, don’t you care." 

The parrot eyed Harry’s finger as it stealthily ap- 
proached, and when it was near enough, took it ever 
so gently in its claw and removed it to a respectful 
distance. The movement was dainty, almost hu- 
man, and although in the nature of a rebuff it won 
Harry. He took no more liberties, but examined 
the bird closely. Its body was a rich green, the 
edges of the feathers being tinged with black, and 
its tail feathers were black, red, yellow, and blue 
alternately, though all these colors did not show ex- 
cept when the tail was expanded. Its eyes were 
large, observant, and as gentle as those of a dog, 
and now they held a ruminative expression as if 
their owner might be thinking of things far away 
or long past. No human eyes could have looked 
more reflectively, more intelligently. Beneath each 
eye was a tuft of yellow which died away among 
the green feathers of the throat. Across the top of 
the head, from eye to eye, was a band of steel-blue. 
The beak was black. 

Now, the little touch of gentleness which was in 


86 


BOY SCOUTS 


Harry’s nature, no less than his training as a scout 
and his intimacy with the great outdoors, had given 
him a fondness for and a familiarity with bird life. 
He could tell you the habits of the robin or the 
oriole; he could distinguish the different kinds of 
eggs, and he had acquired this knowledge without 
ever in his life robbing a nest. But of the parrot, 
that strange but welcome alien in northern climes, 
he knew nothing, except, indeed, that a parrot learns 
to repeat words, and will say, '' Pretty Polly,” 
Polly want a cracker,” and one or two other ex- 
pressions generally supposed to constitute the par- 
rot vocabulary. He supposed that a parrot’s im- 
itative propensity was its chief and only claim to 
favor. He knew, in a hazy way, that sailors are 
very partial to parrots, and since he was so fond of 
deducing, he might have inferred from this that 
there must be something strangely companionable 
about these odd birds. But, as I said, he had never 
given the matter two thoughts. He knew that Rob- 
inson Crusoe had a parrot and old John Silver in 
Treasure Island,” and that there was a parrot 
away home in Oakwood, which used to hang on a 
porch and call “ Hello ” and “ Pretty Polly ” at the 
children on their way to school. And that is all he 
knew about parrots. Nothing was farther from his 
thoughts than to own one. He did not know that 
the brain of a parrot is proportionately more than 
three times as large as that of any other bird; that, 


AT PANAMA 


87 

although they live for a hundred years or more and 
are sometimes slow to learn, they never, never for- 
get. The only pets that Harry had ever had were 
the splendid horses which they kept at home. Of 
these he was inordinately fond. 

Suddenly, the parrot looked at him sideways. 
There was a kind of impudence which he liked in 
the frank way in which the bird was sizing him up. 
Then, as if convinced that the visitor was unworthy 
of further notice, he began to preen his feathers, 
drawing them dexterously through his beak, one by 
one; then he settled down to the occupation of rub- 
bing his upper against his lower bill, making a 
harsh, grating sound. He gave one more glance at 
Harry, as if he considered him altogether beneath 
his notice, and shrieked, '' Loretta ! ” 

I guess I queered myself by what I said about 
those bananas,’' thought Harry. 

The shriek brought forth from the shanty a 
being, horrible in appearance, who yelled, Callese 
la hoca!'' and then, seeing Harry, distorted his 
countenance into what was probably meant for a 
smile. He had the complexion of a mulatto, but his 
features, like his speech and voice, were Spanish. 
He might have been seventy years old, or eighty, or 
ninety. The rags he wore were certainly not less 
than a hundred. His hair was gray and matted, 
and he was of a flabby physique, hulking and ab- 
horrent. His smile did not conceal the lowering 


88 


BOY SCOUTS 


suspicion and greed which lurked in his cruel, fishy 
eyes as he spoke to Harry. 

“ He fine bird — plenty talk — he know Spanish — 
English — two dollar.” 

“ ’Merican money?” prompted Harry, with a 
touch of disgust. 

Ugh, yes, ’Merican money. He fine bird — no 
green.” 

“ No ? What color do you call him ? ” 

“ Ugh ! Color, yes — brains, no.” 

“ Oh, you mean he’s no greenhorn ? ” 

He no bronco — catch in trap — ^bronco. Bronco 
no learn talk. Take from nest ver’ young — learn 
talk. Two dollar — ’Merican money.” 

Oh, that’s it, is it,” said Harry, half interested. 

How old is he? ” 

Ten — fifteen — ” 

Oh, I guess he’s older than that ; his feathers 
are kind of long and shaggy.” 

Ugh,” said the man again, shrugging his shoul- 
ders, “ twenty-five, maybe. Two dollar, ’Merican 
money.” 

'' I don’t want him,” said Harry. 

The man’s face instantly became lowering, almost 
threatening. 

“ He seems to be worrying about some bananas,” 
Harry added indifferently, as he turned to go. 

“ Wait,” said the man. “ I show you him talk.” 

From somewhere in the mysterious depths of his 


AT PANAMA 89 

tattered, greasy clothing he brought forth a lead 
pencil. 

Loretta,” said he, holding the pencil close to 
the bird. The parrot tried gently to remove it with 
its claw as it had removed Harry’s finger. “ I make 
him talk English. Here, Loretta, say ^ Under ba- 
nana tree.’ ” 

“ Under balana tree,” said the parrot. 

The man brought the pencil down smartly on the 
parrot’s head. The bird winced and shrank under 
it. It made Harry wince, too. 

Not balana — banana; say ’Merica — tree cheer, 
red, white, blue. Now — ” 

He hit the bird another crack with the pencil. 

“ Don’t do that,” said Harry, sharply. “ I heard 
him talk English. He talks it better than you do. 
I’m not going to buy him.” 

The danger of losing his customer drove the man 
to extreme measures. Several times in rapid suc- 
cession he brought the vicious little weapon down on 
the smooth, beautiful head, the bird crowding and 
hunching himself as low as he could on his perch to 
lessen the force of the blows. 

Harry’s voice trembled as he spoke, but he looked 
the man straight in the eye. Stop. Don’t do that 
again ! ” said he. 

The man looked at him, taken aback. 

The boy’s hand fumbled nervously in his pocket. 

I make him talk,” said the man. 


90 


BOY SCOUTS 


Harry’s hand stopped where it was. 

If you hit him again,” said he, “ I’ll throw you 
down in the mud as sure as you live.” 

The man glared at him in unconcealed rage. Out 
of his pocket Harry brought forth a rumpled, greasy 
old two-dollar bill. The man watched eagerly, his 
anger ebbing. Harry rolled the bill up tight and, 
ignoring the man utterly, placed it in the claw which 
the bird, anticipating an attack from another quar- 
ter, held up. 

“ Here, Cap,” said Harry, gently ; give him the 
money.” 

The parrot turned the rolled-up bill slowly about 
in his claw, and lifted it to his beak as if to deter- 
mine whether it was all right; then, his soft brown 
claw clasping it tightly, he held it straight out as if 
to exhibit it. 

Harry spoke ever so gently to the bird, and looked 
at him smilingly, but he could not disguise his con- 
tempt for the man. 

“ Give him the money. Cap.” 

The hypocrisy of the fellow’s assumed gentleness 
(now that his sale was assured) as his big, flabby 
fingers removed the bill as if in loving sympathy 
with this pretty little act, was disgusting. It hap- 
pened to be the same bill which Mr. Alonzo Zamora 
had given Harry on shipboard, and since Harry, 
like all boys, had a predilection for shining currency 
and crisp notes, he was glad to get rid of it. Little 


AT PANAMA 


91 


he thought, as he watched the preparation of the 
little reed basket in which it was to travel, that the 
parrot, when the chance came, would pay him back, 
with interest. 

Though he had grave doubts as to what Uncle 
Sam, as landlord, would have to say about this un- 
expected tenant for the bachelor quarters of his 
helpers, Harry consoled himself by reflecting on the 
good scout law that cruelty to any of God’s crea- 
tures is an abomination; that a scout must dis- 
courage it, and must stop it whenever he has the 
chance and at any cost. 

As Harry, with his little wicker basket in his 
hand, stood in the mud (worse than ever after the 
deluge) to survey more carefully the filthy place he 
had just quitted, he noticed a sign above the shed, 
bright and new in comparison with the rest of the 
place, and printed in English to catch unwary tour- 
ists who were visiting the Isthmus to see Uncle Sam 
in his role of canal digger. It read : 

PEDRO REQUELME 
BALBOA BAZAAR 

Good idea,” said he, peeping into the basket. 

I’ll name you after the discoverer of the Pacific 
Ocean, Cap, the first fellow to cross the Isthmus — 
Vasco Nunez de Balboa.” 


92 


BOY SCOUTS 


And he picked up a sunflower seed from the few 
which Pedro Requelme at his request had put in the 
basket for the parrot’s supper, and dropped it 
through the wicker bars plunk on the bird’s head to 
christen him. 

Within an hour of the time Harry left the hovel 
of Requelme, there plodded through the mud a man 
whose attire seemed out of place in that squalid 
quarter. He carried a fur coat over his arm, and 
behind his crookedly adjusted gold spectacles there 
gleamed two little brown eyes which looked like 
Croton alleys. Picking his way from stone to board, 
he turned in at the Balboa Bazaar. 

So earnest was his conversation with the propri- 
etor that neither of them noticed the ramshackle 
cart which a few minutes later stopped at the door. 
Out of it stepped a man in spotless white, and the 
gold lettering on his white hat read, Isthmian 
Canal Commission, Sanitary Squad.” Puckering 
his mouth dubiously at the offensive surroundings, 
he gently lifted from the cart a little mulatto boy, 
who seemed to be helpless. 

This the place? ” he asked kindly. 

The little fellow nodded assent. He had been all 
but killed in the harbor of Colon and rescued by 
some one or other, no one seemed to know exactly 
who, except that he was a tall young fellow who had 
dived from one of the vessels moored near by. A 


AT PANAMA 


93 


young lady tourist had told the man in white that 
he had a long lock of hair which he was continually 
brushing back from his forehead, and that he had 
big eyes. But that was hardly enough to identify 
him. 


CHAPTER VI 


UNCLE SAM, HOST 

It was one of the favorite notions of Master 
Gordon Lord, whom we shall not meet again for 
some time, that a map is a deceitful contrivance. 
He had never seen, he said, a town or a county or 
a continent that bore the slightest resemblance to 
its map. The edges of a map, he said, were “ all 
scalloped,'' but “ Look at the shore — it isn't scal- 
loped at all." 

We shall now experience some of Gordon's diffi- 
culty, for we cannot see the whole of the great 
Panama Canal at once, and the wonder and magni- 
tude of it are in danger of being lost upon us. At 
least, so it seemed to Harry Arnold as he looked 
from the window of the old-fashioned railroad car 
which was bearing him inland. Scarcely had the 
train pulled out of the Colon station when it plunged 
into the jungle, and for a while there was not much 
more view from the windows than there is in a 
tunnel. Then, after five or six miles of swampy 
undergrowth and thick, arching vegetation, the 
first sign of Uncle Sam's handiwork burst upon his 
view. 


94 


BOY SCOUTS 


95 


He was bound inland for the little town of Cule- 
bra, and while the train is rattling through this first 
stretch of tropical thicket, let us, since there is really 
nothing to see, spend the little while in finding out 
what sort of enterprise Harry’s sturdy and indomit- 
able boss had undertaken to put through. Then, 
when we come out into the open, we shall be in a 
fair way to appreciate what we see. In a word, as 
Mr. Carleton Conne would say, let us roll the Canal 
up and put it in a peanut shell so as to have it 
handy. 

And first, let me warn you not to look at a map 
of the Canal Zone; it would drive you distracted. 
For you will find Colon, the Atlantic port, on the 
left-hand side and Panama City, the Pacific port, 
on the right-hand. You will twirl the map around 
this way and that, but you cannot make it seem 
right. Then you will say a dreadful mistake has 
been made. But be calm. Get a map of the whole 
Isthmus — not just the Canal Zone — and then you 
will see what sort of practical joke the Isthmus has 
been playing. For it forms a sort of S when you see 
the whole of it; the Panama Canal runs through the 
very middle of the S, and Harry was right when he 
told Gordon that the sun rises over the Pacific 
Ocean at Panama. But Uncle Sam is not respon- 
sible for that, though he has indeed taken some 
pretty bold liberties with the face of nature. So 
whether the little cities of Panama and Colon are 


96 


BOY SCOUTS 


where they ought to be or not, at least we have them 
located and we can make a start. 

You will understand, then, that the Isthmus be- 
tween these two cities is about fifty miles wide. A 
little distance from the town of Colon is the mouth 
of a river, the Chagres. This river is freakish, like 
almost everything in the tropics. At one time it is a 
skinny little stream ; then, presto, it is a roaring tor- 
rent. Now, if we follow the channel of the river 
beginning at the wrong end (that is, at its mouth) 
we shall find that it appears to run across the 
Isthmus. And that is just the joke it played on 
Columbus. For when it gets a little past the middle 
of the Isthmus, it changes its mind, makes a turn, 
and runs up into the jungle. And there is the end 
of it — or, rather, the beginning. 

Here is where Uncle Sam comes on the stage 
and this is what he decided to do. About five miles 
in from the mouth of the river its channel runs 
between high hills, and beyond these through com- 
paratively low land. Right there, where the Chagres 
River runs between the hills, is and always has been 
the little town of Gatun. Now, mused Uncle Sam, 
if a stupendous dam were built between those 
hills, — a perfect ‘‘ whopper ” of a dam, a cement 
mountain, in fact, right across the channel of the 
river, — what would happen ? Why, the river would 
be much perplexed how to get out, and in fact it 
wouldn't get out; it would just pile up and spread 


AT PANAMA 


97 


over a vast tract of country, reaching nearly half- 
way across the Isthmus. And there is half the 
Panama Canal, made ! 

But if the river continued to flow against this 
mammoth obstruction, piling up behind it and 
spreading, why would not this great lake soon 
spread across the whole Isthmus? Because, when it 
reached the middle of the Isthmus, the hills would 
be too high for it. So, instead of rearing an ob- 
struction, as he had done between the hills at Gatun, 
here Uncle Sam would have to remove an obstruc- 
tion ; that is, open a channel to admit the waters of 
this great lake and convey them on to the Pacific. 
And that is where he rolled up his sleeves and set 
about the prodigious task of digging a ditch from 
the southern side of the lake to the Pacific Ocean. 
And there would be the other half of the Canal, 
made! 

But an important question must first be settled. 
And about this Uncle Sam’s engineers and engineers 
from other countries, whose opinions he asked, dis- 
agreed. The question was whether the Canal 
should be dug down to sea level, so that the water 
would flow, unhindered, through it, or whether 
much of this digging should be saved by having the 
channel not so deep and building locks, or great ele- 
vators, as you might call them, near either ocean 
to lift ships from sea level up to canal level and to 
let them down again at the other end. Now, the 


98 


BOY SCOUTS 


great Gatun Lake would cover a tract of low, 
marshy country about eighty-five feet above sea- 
level, and it would be very difficult to dig a sea 
level channel through this mushy, spongy soil. It 
would probably fill up as fast as it was dug out. 
Then, there would be the great ditch running from 
the lake to the Pacific, which would have to be dug 
about twice as deep. It was decided that this was 
out of the question, and that it would be better to 
let the whole Canal stand eighty-five feet above sea 
level and to have these locks, or elevators, to lift and 
lower the ships. There were other questions which 
Uncle Sam was in a great quandary over, but the 
spongy soil of one half the Isthmus and the prodig- 
ious work of digging the other half to sea level de- 
cided him in favor of the lock ” canal. 

And that brings us to the three stupendous tasks 
which were well under way when Harry Arnold 
reached the Isthmus : the building of the great dam 
to create a vast lake eighty-five feet above the sea 
and halfway across the Isthmus; the digging of the 
mammoth ditch down to the same level and the rest 
of the way across the Isthmus; and the building of 
the locks, or lifts, at either end to raise and lower 
the vessels. 

There was one other big task, too, and this was 
to clean the Isthmus (or that part of it) from dis- 
ease and filth, so that men could go and work there 
without sickening and dying; and I am not so sure 


AT PANAMA 


99 


but that this discouraging and apparently hopeless 
undertaking was the greatest of all. At all events, 
the building of the Panama Canal would involve, 
generally speaking, four great jobs. 

Before Harry took the train, he had wandered 
through Cristobal, the American suburb of Colon, 
and here he had seen streets paved and clean, houses 
tidy and in good repair, — indubitable signs that 
Uncle Sam had been abroad in that section. So we 
cannot exactly say that when the train emerged 
from the jungle and the conductor called out, 

Gatun,’’ the sight which broke upon his gaze was 
really the first of Uncle Sam’s work that he had 
seen. But it was the first to thrill him with a real- 
ization that he was actually along the channel of the 
great Canal. There, close by the train, was the 
mighty skeleton framework of the towering Gatun 
locks, two flights of three locks each, and beyond 
them curved away the great unfinished concrete 
mountain, over which- the luxuriant vegetation of 
the jungle was already creeping, ultimately to hide 
the vast gray mass and claim it as its own. 

Harry alighted from the train as it stopped, and 
standing on the brink looked down the sheer con- 
crete wall into the chasm of one of the locks. It 
was like looking from the roof of a ten-story build- 
ing. There was a bridge across at the top, and be- 
neath it two great skeleton metal structures stand- 
ing upright and reaching to within a third of the 


100 


BOY SCOUTS 


top. These enormous steel partitions, filled, as it 
seemed to Harry, with countless little windows 
(later to be filled with concrete), extended from 
either wall of the great lock basin toward the center, 
where they remained far enough apart for several 
temporary railroad tracks to pass through. Harry 
supposed that these great partitions were the gates 
of the lock. The bottom of this huge chasm was 
filled with all sorts of junk and paraphernalia, with 
railroad iron and funny little cars, with pipes and 
cement barrels. This was one of the first pair of 
locks, and would be capable of raising a vessel about 
one third of the eighty-five feet necessary to float it 
into the big lake. 

There was no time to examine it more carefully 
now, and Harry jumped aboard as the train pulled 
out of Gatun station. Most of the way from Colon 
the road had run close to the Canal channel, but he 
had not been able to see it through the jungle. Now, 
an open country lay before him. At Gatun station 
he was, in fact, upon the very brink of the big lake, 
except that there was no lake as yet, and would not 
be until the spillway, or outlet through the great 
dam, should be closed up. Then it would take a 
year for the lake to fill. The train skirted this vast 
basin, where brush and trees had been cut away. 
This would be the bed of the lake. 

'' How different it will look,” thought Harry, 

after a year or two.” Until recently the line had 


AT PANAMA 


lOI 


run through the middle of this territory, but it had 
now been relocated so as to hug what would be the 
shore of the lake. The hills which rose here and 
there in this cleared area would shortly be trans- 
formed into islands (those that were high enough), 
and Harry wondered what would become of the 
people who lived among these hills and even in the 
low, marshy land from which they rose. Through 
the middle of this tract (and Harry could distin- 
guish it in the distance) the Chagres River wound 
its way from the hills and, unhindered, through the 
open, uncompleted spillway of the dam. 

Soon the open country seemed to be narrowing, 
the hills and jungle closing in around their pathway, 
and presently the train stopped at Gorgona. They 
were now at the opposite side of Gatun Lake, hav- 
ing steamed around it, and were halfway across the 
Isthmus. Harry had seen all that could be seen in 
passing of one of the four big jobs. 

The whistle blew in the shops at Gorgona as the 
train stopped, and a motley crew crowded aboard. 
Again Harry was reminded that everything on the 
Isthmus is crazy and endways. A man in a pair of 
filthy overalls, and with the sleeves of his dirty 
khaki shirt rolled up and the front thrown open, 
displaying his chest, tumbled into the seat in front 
of him and fell into conversation with a young fel- 
low in spotless white duck. He looked like the ash 
man who used to empty the barrels in Oakwood. 


102 


BOY SCOUTS 


The young man in white asked him if they were 
going to have Lambert pitch, and if he knew Lam- 
bert. Yes, he said, he had known Lambert at Har- 
vard — but the steam-shovel men could “ wallop ’’ 
the rodmen and levelmen without Lambert, as the 
rodmen and levelmen would pretty soon see. Harry 
guessed that the young man in white was a rodman 
or a levelman. 

Everywhere it was the same. Grimy, filthy 
laborers were chatting about subaqueous excava- 
tion ’’ and asking each other whether they were 
going to the musicale or the tea at Ancon, but most 
of the talk, back and forth, from one end of the car 
to the other, was good-natured banter about the 
coming game between the steam-shovel men and the 
rodmen and levelmen. It all helped to make Harry 
feel at home. 

The train stopped at Bas Obispo and Dynamite 
Charlie ’’ got on. At least, that is what they called 
him. They asked him where he got his pink calico 
hat and said the pay train must have come along 
ahead of time. But this didn’t trouble Dynamite 
Charlie; he sat down and began to talk with some 
one about a new engine with an alternate action, 
which they were using. Some one wanted to know 
if it wouldn’t be a good idea to have a Lidger- 
wood’s Unloader ” on the ball field to move the 
steam-shovel men around from base to base. Dyna- 
mite Charlie paused to say he thought it would be 


AT PANAMA 


103 


better to have the base bags filled with blasting 
powder to blow them around. This was a good dig 
at the man who looked like the Oakwood ash man 
and he turned, smiling, and gave a pleasant wink at 
Harry. Harry hoped he might come to know him 
and wondered what in the world a “ Lidgerwood’s 
Unloader ” was. 

The next stop was Empire, and he knew they 
were running close to the brink of the great Culebra 
Cut. Here the Harvard man who looked like the 
Oakwood ash man got out, and a young woman in 
white started a little child down the grassy slope to 
meet him, calling frantically to him not to dare to 
touch the child with such dirty hands. 

“ Is he a steam-shovel man? ” Harry asked of the 
white-clad young fellow who sat near him. 

Yes, but he’s going to be an engineer; he’s head 
of the Boy Scouts in Empire, too; nice fellow, but 
they can’t play ball.” 

'' Scoutmaster,” thought Harry. 

A good many alighted at Empire, and others got 
on. It was here that Harry caught his first glimpse 
of the trim, pleasant bungalows in which the em- 
ployees on the ‘‘ gold roll ” lived. The grassy slope 
near the station was covered with them, and far- 
ther back, as he later learned, there were whole 
streets of them. Some were small, as if for a single 
family, and others large enough to have a dozen or 
more rooms. They were covered with shingles, 


104 


BOY SCOUTS 


most of them, yellow and brown, with bright green 
roofs, and their cheery, airy look was enhanced by 
the porches and balconies which surrounded them. 
Everything was so neat and orderly that it looked 
like a toy village. The Disbursement Department 
was here (according to the trainman’s announce- 
ment), and Harry saw the office close by the station. 
He recollected that the doctor had said they might 
send him over to Empire. He rather hoped this 
might be so, on account of the scoutmaster. 

Again the train started. There were a few tour- 
ists in the car, and perhaps it was chiefly for their 
benefit that the trainman called, ‘‘ Next stop is 
Culebra — Culebra next ; Administration Depart- 
ment, Quartermaster’s Department, Department of 
Construction and Engineering.” He closed the door 
with a bang. 

Presently the great Culebra Cut broke upon 
Harry’s view. From directly under the tracks, as it 
seemed, the land sloped down, down, and away to 
an abysmal depth, where railroad tracks were laid 
about this way and that like those of a toy railroad. 
There were men down there, but they looked like 
mere specks. This was the big ditch of which he 
had heard so much. The opposite side of it was so 
far away that one could not clearly see objects there 
without the aid of field glasses. There were little 
patches of vegetation upon the slope, especially 
toward the top, for here, too, the persistent jungle 


AT PANAMA 


105 


was creeping in and some day, not so very far away, 
there would be no sign left in this mighty channel 
to show that it was the work of man. The train 
ran along the brink of this great slope for a few 
minutes, and then on the opposite side a large, iso- 
lated hill caught Harry’s eye. Then, “ Culebra,” 
called the guard. 

Harry lifted his suit-case and the little reed basket 
containing Vasco Nunez, and stepped from the 
train. The basket was wrapped in paper, and he 
asked the station agent if he might leave that and 
his suit-case there until he knew where he was to 
make his home. Then he went up a little slope. 
Here, facing him in the bright, green turf, was a 
floral design of tropical flowers. His boss, always 
thoughtful and considerate, had arranged it, I doubt 
not, for just such boys whose homes and friends 
were many miles away, to give them hope and heart 
and bid them be of good cheer and feel at home. 
Harry read it with a grateful and full heart : 

WELCOME TO CULEBRA 

Around the corner was a larger and especially at- 
tractive building of the same general bungalow type, 
and surrounded by a bright green tropical hedge. 
A sign over its door told Harry that this was the 
clubhouse. He soon found that all the buildings, 
large or small, official or otherwise, were of the 


io6 


BOY SCOUTS 


same light, cool, airy, gay pattern, with trellises and 
porches surrounding them like artistic scaffold 
work. He was in a little settlement, or park, near 
the station, where the bungalows faced this way and 
that, with a little octagonal summer-house on the 
lawn and tidy paths winding about. Close to the 
clubhouse was another good-sized bungalow, with a 
pretty flight of open stairs running up its side. In 
front of it were bushes and flowers. It was of 
brown shingles, with snow-white trimmings and 
screens enclosing its upper and lower balconies. It 
was as clean as wax. Facing this was an odd, cosy 
little box of a building which reminded Harry of the 
artistic little real estate offices he had often seen in 
suburban neighborhoods at home. There were a 
good many of these back in the town proper, as he 
later found; they were the married men’s quarters, 
little tropical homes. The kind you get with a 
pound of tea,” Mr. Conne told Harry, and Harry 
thought it might be very hard to leave these pretty, 
tiny houses when the time came for the occupants 
to return to “ the States.” 

The night was now falling. Like the rain, it 
comes suddenly in the tropics, and Harry lost no 
time in seeking the Quartermaster’s Department. 
Here he presented his papers. The attendant who 
examined them turned the pages of a book and said 
he would see if he could find a vacant hundred- 
dollar room.” Harry thought that was a good deal 


AT PANAMA 


107 

for a room to be worth, until he learned that the 
size of an employee’s room was determined by the 
size of his salary, and one hundred dollars was the 
smallest amount paid to any one on the gold roll. 
His papers and photograph were very carefully 
examined, and then the clerk asked the same ques- 
tion the doctor had asked : 

Have you any money ? ” 

Harry mentioned the amount of his little horde 
of cherished, crisp bills. 

“ Well, ril give you a hotel book,” said the clerk; 
‘‘ it’s good for sixteen meals at thirty cents a meal 
at any mess-house along the line. Amount will be 
deducted from your first month’s pay. You can 
get a provision book later if you want one; cou- 
pons good for anything you need at Commission’s 
stores. But you’ll have to work out the cost of 
one first.” He talked in a crisp, rapid, disinterested 
way, as if he had said the same things many times 
before. 

“ Why didn’t you come in on the early train ? 
Oh, yes, I see, missed it. You’d better report at 
the Department of Construction and Engineering in 
the morning — at eight. Your quarters are fur- 
nished, but no bedclothing and such things. You 
have those?” 

N-no, sir; it’s too late now to get them. Pm 
afraid, but I can get along until morning.” 

“Yes;” he handed Harry a card. “Bachelor 


io8 


BOY SCOUTS 


quarters, nearest clubhouse; show this card. No 
cooking allowed in rooms.” 

He had done his duty, and turned away. 

Now, it had been Harry’s intention to say noth- 
ing about Vasco Nunez, but to install him in his own 
room until he could think what else to do with him. 
He knew that Uncle Sam’s rules about living quar- 
ters were very strict, and he suspected that there 
might be some objection to this unusual tenant. So 
he would let the fact be discovered in the natural 
course of things. I say that was his intention, but 
the plain truth is that it was no more in his nature 
to carry out such an idea than it was to pick up the 
clerk’s fountain pen, which lay on the counter be- 
fore him, and put it in his pocket. Perhaps there 
would have been nothing wrong in such a course, 
but it was not like Harry ; so now, with a little rue- 
ful smile, he announced that he had a parrot. 

“ A parrot ? ” said the clerk, with a half-puzzled 
look which Harry thought held a touch of contemp- 
tuous disapproval. “ You won’t have much time 
for pets down here.” 

I didn’t bring him down with me ; I got him in 
Colon. A man was pounding his head and the first 
thing I knew — I — I bought him. I thought of let- 
ting him go, but I see his wings have been clipped 
and Pm afraid he’s been in captivity too long for — ” 
But the clerk was not interested. Guess that’s 
between you and the inspector,” he said tersely. 


AT PANAMA 


109 


No cooking in the rooms,” he repeated, handing 
Harry the card which he had made out, and a key. 

“He’s not going to cook him, are you, Kid?” 
said a man who was poring over an enormous 
book directly behind the clerk. He gave Harry a 
whimsical wink as he spoke, and the boy went out 
smiling. 

It is surprising how pleasant and encouraging 
little winks and smiles are when you are far from 
home ; and he thought how wise and helpful was the 
good scout law to “ smile and look pleasant.” But 
how about the man’s calling him “ Kid ” ? Why, 
that was what he had always called Gordon. Was 
it possible that he, Harry Arnold, was to be the 
“ kid ” now ? Indeed, the Isthmus was a strange 
place if that should come to pass. But so it was. 
He was the youngest fellow on the gold roll, one of 
the very few who had been accepted under the 
minimum age limit of twenty. To the burly, hearty 
men who now saw him for the first time, he seemed 
very young and inexperienced. They liked his 
earnest, open face, his slender, agile frame, the boy- 
ish way he had of pushing back the hair which was 
always falling over his forehead, the eager intensity 
with which he always listened when anything like 
an adventure was being described ; and, one and all, 
they called him “ Kid,” and so he came to be known 
from Colon to Panama. 

It happened that the building where he was to 


no 


BOY SCOUTS 


make his home was the very one near the clubhouse, 
and as he ascended the stairs inside, looking for 
Room 7, he heard voices through the open doors, 
talking from one room to another. The occupants 
were evidently changing their clothing after the 
day’s work. One called downstairs to know if an- 
other had swiped ” his necktie, and the familiar 
answer came back that the person addressed had not 
and what was more that he would not take it for a 
gift. 

“ The Old Man down the line to-day? ” some one 
called. 

Sure — two senators with him ; you ought to 
have seen him when he saw where we had Blake’s 
tracks shifted to. He thought we wouldn’t get over 
that for a week. You going over to Ancon? ” 

“ If I can find a clean coat, I am.” 

“ Is Barney’s craneman back? ” 

“ I didn’t know he was off; what’s the trub? ” 

‘‘ Piece of rock.” 

“ Oh, from that blast at Empire? ” 

“ So I heard ; he won’t be back for a couple of 
months, I guess.” 

“ What’s Barney going to do? He was just top- 
ping the record, too, wasn’t he ? ” 

“ Hey, George, got any white thread? ” 

Harry stood at the door of his room, fascinated. 
It was fine to think that he should be a part of all 
this, that he should be concerned in “ topping rec- 


AT PANAMA 


III 


ords,” and that, perhaps — perhaps, they would come 
and borrow white thread from him. 

It was a small room, whose size and furnishings 
and general aspect made him think of his room at 
boarding-school two years before. A little iron bed, 
glowing with a fresh coat of white enamel, a mission 
center-table, a mission straight-backed chair and 
armchair, a wardrobe, a neat bureau, and a porce- 
lain wash-basin with running water, completed the 
furnishings. From the center of the ceiling hung 
an unshaded electric bulb. There were no pictures, 
ornaments, or bedclothing. Harry opened the reed 
basket, which he had regained from the station 
agent, and held it close to the towel-rack, which 
opened fanlike. The parrot looked cautiously out, 
set one claw daintily on the towel-rack, then the 
other, then shook his feathers and looked about, 
cocking his head this way and that. 

“ B-r-r-r-r,’’ said he, “ very pretty Polly.” 

“ I know. Cap,” said Harry, opening his suit-case 
on the bed, but they don’t care anything about 
looks here. ‘ Handsome is as handsome does.’ I’ll 
dig you up a cage somewhere if I have to keep — 
I don’t mean that,” he finished, approaching the 
rack. I mean if they’ll let me keep you. Do you 
think you can make out there, to-night? ” 

He went to the window and raised the shade. In 
the fast-gathering darkness he could see how close 
was the rear of the building to the great Cut. In the 


II2 


BOY SCOUTS 


distance (a few hundred feet, it seemed) rose Gold 
Hill, somber now in the dusk, like a great inverted 
bowl. Between it and the Quarters ran the “ ditch.” 
Down in its broad depth Harry could see a row of 
machines with high, trestle-like towers standing 
straight in a row like soldiers. All was quiet and 
deserted down there. The intricate mazes of rail 
were just visible and fast disappearing as the tropi- 
cal night advanced. It was no ditch ; it was an im- 
mense canon into which he was looking, and man 
had made it — with the help of those steel monsters 
which were silent after the day, and all but wrapped 
in darkness. America — Uncle Sam — had made it! 
And had invented most of the steel monsters, too ! 

The sight of this huge channel, the thought of the 
indomitable will and resistless power and enterprise 
which had made it, thrilled the boy, and he was glad 
that he was an American. So wide, so vast did the 
Cut seem that he had to include it all in his vision or 
it did not seem like an excavation at all. What 
could be greater than the triumph of this stupen- 
dous channel where, at the bidding of Uncle Sam, 
the oceans should meet and two continents be sev- 
ered ? He was glad that he was to be so close to it, 
for it would be an inspiration and a continual in- 
centive. If a thing ever seemed hard, or tedious, or 
insurmountable, he had but to look into Culebra 
Cut and say, ‘‘ This thing can be done.” 

He lowered the shade and turned on the electric 


AT PANAMA 


113 

light. Its glow fell upon the only thing which lay 
on the table — a little newspaper, The Canal Record. 
On the front page was a heading which attracted 
his attention. It read : 

CANAL MEDALS 

One thousand pounds of old French scrap have been for- 
warded to the Director of the U. S. Mint at Philadelphia by 
the Chief Quartermaster of the Isthmian Canal Commission, 
to be used in making Canal Medals. These, as formerly 
stated, will be awarded to employees who have rendered two 
full years of continuous, faithful, and satisfactory service on the 
Isthmus. American citizens alone shall be eligible for these 
medals. 

For each two years of additional service a bar will be 
awarded to be attached to the medal. 

As stated in a previous issue of this paper, authorized, pre- 
arranged leave of absence shall be equivalent to service. The 
medals will be numbered consecutively in the order in which 
they are earned and employees on the silver roll shall be 
equally eligible with those on the gold roll, provided they are 
born, or naturalized, American citizens. 

All communications relating to these medals should be ad- 
dressed to the Assistant to the Chairman, Culebra, Canal 
Zone. 

Harry^s eyes remained riveted upon this item. 
Then, in sudden apprehension, he looked away and 
spoke to himself, counting on his fingers. No- 
vember, December, January, Feb — Oh, yes, I 
will,” he smiled; ''they can’t finish it before then. 
I’ll be here two full years, all right. I’ll be here at 
the finish, and that makes it better still ! ” He 
looked at the date of the paper. It was faded, and 
from its creases he suspected that it had been used 


BOY SCOUTS 


114 

to line a bureau drawer. It was three years old. 
But the offer was still good, good as the grand old 
boss that made it, and there were two full years and 
more left! 

Harry, in his joyous resolution, rolled the paper 
and slapped it on the table, so that Vasco Nunez de 
Balboa, on the towel-rack, cocked his head sideways, 
stretched his neck, and looked inquiringly at him as 
if he feared the boy might have suddenly gone 
crazy. Harry opened the sheet again, seeking out 
and repeating the conditional adjectives, “ Continu- 
ous, faithful, satisfactory — ’’ Two full years! 

‘‘ It’s a bargain. Uncle Sam ! ” he said. “ I’ll take 
one of those medals home if I have to work myself 
to death ! ” 


CHAPTER VII 


WORK, WORK, WORK — AND A LITTLE PLAY 

When Harry awoke in the morning, his first 
thought was of the medal, and he read the para- 
graph again. It was characteristic of him that he 
should think more of this than of the exceptionally 
good salary he was to receive, considering his age. 
This would not be pay, but an award, an honor. 
And he saw the difference. He knew that he would 
not long receive his salary if he did not do his 
work, and of course he looked upon his very em- 
ployment as an honor. But money, he knew, comes 
and goes, and even if you save it one dollar looks 
very much like another. 

He had among his treasures at home the sword 
his grandfather had worn at Gettysburg. How 
proud the old gentleman had been of that sword; 
how often he had said that he intended to leave it to 
Harry. Of course, he had received his pay as a 
colonel, but he never thought of mentioning that, 
nor of jingling his money and saying, That’s part 
of the pay I got for fighting for my country.” No, 
no, this medal was a different thing altogether, and 
Harry already pictured it resting in a little plush 
115 


ii6 


BOY SCOUTS 


box among his treasured curios, alongside the golden 
cross he had won from the Scouts. He would hand 
it down to his grandson, so that that proud young- 
ster might know that his grandfather had helped to 
make the wonderful Panama Canal; had worked 
for two full years, continuously, faithfully, satis- 
factorily. He remembered how his grandfather, 
with his funny, old-fashioned scarf, had said, in his 
cracked voice, “ Don’t you ever let that sword go, 
young man! These curio dealers, they’ll be after 
you. Remember, you couldn’t buy another one.” 
No, and you couldn’t buy one of these medals, 
either. 

Harry had grown up in a fine old home; his 
father was wealthy, and he had wanted for nothing. 
But it was one of the good things about that fine 
old home that the boy, as he grew up, had not been 
encouraged to think that money can do anything. 
Here was something his father’s money could, not 
buy for him. The richest man in the world could 
not buy one for him. There were just three things 
that could get one, — continuous service, faithful, 
satisfactory. Some day, perhaps, the coin men and 
curio dealers might get hold of some of these medals 
and rich men would buy them at fabulous prices. 

But they’ll never get hold of mine,” thought 
Harry. He would make his grandson promise not 
to sell it. Then it occurred to him that there wasn’t 
any grandson, or any medal either, and that it might 


AT PANAMA 117 

possibly be the best plan to win the medal before he 
troubled himself about the grandson. 

He was thinking of all this as he went down the 
stairs early in the morning, wearing a light-weight 
serge suit, a khaki shirt, and the cap he had worn 
on the voyage. Some more appropriate attire was 
on his shopping list, and he intended to descend on 
one of the government stores at the first oppor- 
tunity. His destination now was the Department of 
Construction and Engineering, where he was to re- 
port. In the doorway he came face to face with the 
very man who had sat in front of him in the train 
the day before, and who had alighted at Empire. 
He did not look so much like the Oakwood ash man 
now, though his attire could scarcely have been 
called dressy.” He likewise wore a khaki shirt, 
spotlessly clean, but his trousers were worn and 
greasy — what Harry could see of them, for they 
disappeared into high rubber boots. His suspenders 
were unconcealed and conspicuous. 

Your name Arnold? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, sir. I saw you in the train yesterday, 
didn’t I?” 

So? Oh, yes, I seem to remember. Well, my 
name’s Barney; I have charge of a little troop of 
Boy Scouts we formed down here. I have a letter ” 
(he produced an envelope) “ from Dr. — let’s see — 
oh, yes. Dr, Brent, Oakwood, N. J. That your 
home ? ” 


ii8 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Yes, sir,’' said Harry, in surprise. 

Well, just take a look at that.” 

Mr. Thomas E. Barney, 

Empire, Canal Zone, Panama. 

Dear Sir: 

On inquiry, I am informed by the Boy Scouts of 
America that a troop which has been formed in the 
Canal Zone is in your charge. 

As the scoutmaster of the First Troop of this 
town, I beg to advise you that one of our boys (who 
has been especially helpful to me in the scouting 
work) is about to leave for Panama to work on the 
Canal. 

His name is Harry Arnold. Though I have not 
the pleasure of your acquaintance, may I take ad- 
vantage of the fellowship which should exist be- 
tween scoutmasters, to ask you to accept him into 
your number and to keep an eye on him personally ? 
Not that he needs watching, except that he is some- 
times rather venturesome. 

We are anxious for him to come home whole and 
sound as he left, and if you can help to make 
him comfortable and put him in the way of mak- 
ing pleasant friends, I should esteem it a special 
favor. 

I write this to relieve his mother in the long ab- 
sence which she has to contemplate, as well as on my 
own behalf. I believe he is under the regular age 


AT PANAMA 


119 

limit, and that also inclines me to take the liberty of 
writing you this letter. 

Yours very sincerely, 

E. C. Brent, M. D. 

“Good old Red Deer,” thought Harry; “he 
watches us closer than we ever dreamed.” 

“ See yourself as others see you,” Mr. Barney ob- 
served. “ Well, now, Arnold, what can I do for 
you ? Which way you going ? Oh, good. Pm going 
there, too. Pm a little in a hurry ; let's walk along.” 

He was a burly, resolute-looking man, of perhaps 
thirty, and hurried along with a sounding, rapid 
stride. He was pleasant enough, but he seemed to 
Harry different from what he had seemed in the 
train the night before. But that, as he reflected, 
was after the day's work was over. He was not 
easy to talk to now, and it wasn't possible more than 
to acknowledge the little scraps of information 
which he offered as they strode along. 

“ How old are you ? ” he would blurt out sud- 
denly. 

“ Nineteen.” 

“ Eh, heh.” 

Then there would be a silence. 

“ That's the Administration Building,” he nodded. 
“ That's where the Old Man lives, right across the 
lawn. He made that little worn path himself, cut- 
ting across to save time.” 


120 


BOY SCOUTS 


Everybody bowed to him, workmen and men who 
looked as if they might be doctors or civil engineers, 
clad in spotless white duck; and one who wore a 
uniform asked him something about his injured 
craneman, which reminded Harry of what he had 
heard his neighbor say the night before. 

“ That’s Colonel Greene, Camp Otis,” Mr. Barney 
said. 

Then there was another silence, which he broke 
by saying in a half-preoccupied way that Harry 
must come over to Empire and join the Scouts. 
They were all younger boys, he said, because boys 
old enough to be accepted by the Commission were 
too old for scouts, and these were little fellows who 
were too young for their parents to leave at home, 
“ It takes a good deal of my time, first and last, 
what with these slides we’ve been having. I dare 
say you’d make a pretty good lieutenant — sort of 
assistant, eh?” 

Harry said he would be glad to help in any way 
he could; then, mustering his courage, he came out 
with a question which he had not had the hardihood 
to ask until now when he saw the sign, “ Construc- 
tion and Engineering Department,” directly before 
them. 

“ Mr. Barney,” said he, “ I’m afraid they’re going 
to put me at a desk, and I don’t want to work in- 
side — at least, not altogether. I wonder if you 
would be willing — I heard somebody say last 


AT PANAMA 


I2I 


night that your craneman was injured. Of course, I 
couldn’t be that, but I thought perhaps if some one 
was promoted to his place, I might — I wish I 
could work under you,” he broke off. 

Mr. Barney scrutinized him from head to foot 
as they strode along, but said nothing, at first. 

What does your appointment say? ” 

“ It’s what they call a blind appointment ; they 
might put me anywhere where a clerk is needed.” 

“ Oh, clerk, eh ? ” 

He did not encourage Harry to say more. It was 
plain that he was thinking, and Harry had just the 
faintest tinge of hopefulness that he was being in- 
cluded in Mr. Barney’s thoughts. 

‘‘ Just wait here a minute,” said Mr. Barney, when 
they had entered the Department office. He walked 
familiarly around the counter and addressed a man 
with a pencil over his ear. Harry, standing obedi- 
ently where he was left, heard part of the talk. 

Look here, Frank,” he opened up, what are 
you going to do about 82? This isn’t fair. You 
people are knocking my record endways. I haven’t 
got but four pitmen and I’ve got to put one of those 
in the crane to-day. Fast as I get my men broken 
in, they send them over to Gorgona dumps. Here, 
the slide’s been active all night; I walked up from 
Empire this morning to see; half my track’s buried 
and two of my men gone to shift tracks for 
Blake.” 


122 


BOY SCOUTS 


They were evidently good friends, despite Mr. 
Barney’s blustering manner. 

Well, you get your salary, don’t you, Tom?” 
said the other man, with a mischievous smile. 

Now, that made Mr. Barney mad, and the 
clerk knew it would make him mad, and he said 
it just for fun. There is a good deal of this 
kind of fun down on the Isthmus, as Harry soon 
discovered, for it was a great big happy family he 
had entered. 

“ I’m not talking about salary, I’m talking about 
my record.” 

We’re doing the best we can for you, Tom, 
honest — ” 

“ No, you’re not; now, look here, Frank, here's a., 
young fellow — ” j. 

Come in and see the boss,” said Frank. 

They disappeared, and that was the last Harry 
heard. He thought Mr. Barney himself was a kind 
of human steam-shovel, and his hopefulness grew 
as he waited. He had heard the words, “ Here’s 
a young fellow,” and he believed that Mr. Barney 
would “ fix it.” How little this burly, vigorous, ag- 
gressive, splendid man cared about his salary; how 
much for his precious “ record.” Then there came 
to Harry’s mind the words of Mr, Carleton Conne. 
How often his exaggerated, half-serious observa- 
tions recurred to the boy ! And how true they were, 
when you got down to the bottom of them ! ‘‘Why, 


AT PANAMA 


123 

yes, T suppose that Canal belongs to you and me and 
the boys, doesn’t it? ” Yes, that was right. 

Mr. Barney, with Frank and an older man, came 
out, Mr. Barney talking volubly. He paid no atten- 
tion to Harry, but Frank opened a large book and 
asked the boy certain questions, looked at his papers, 
made him give his home address and whom to 
notify in case of death or accident,” and sign his 
name. 

You may go with Mr. Barney and do as he tells 
you till you are ordered to report at this office.” 

Yes, sir, thank you,” said Harry, and he felt 
himself at last a full-fledged worker on the great 
Canal. More than that, best of all, he was out on 
the line.” 

I once heard a story about Lincoln, Mr. 
Barney,” said Harry, delightedly, as his companion 
and new boss hurried him along. “ How a woman 
went to him whose son was sentenced to be shot. 
She pleaded with him, and he dictated a telegram 
that said, ‘ Don’t execute so-and-so till further or- 
ders from me,’ but she wasn’t satisfied. ‘ Well,’ 
said Lincoln, ‘ I have a poor memory, and I don’t 
believe Fll ever be able to remember to send those 
further orders.’ I hope they’ll forget to send me 
orders to report at the office.” 

“ Look out, here,” said Mr. Barney. 

And Harry found himself descending into Cule- 
bra Cut, following Mr. Barney, who strode and 


124 


BOY SCOUTS 


swaggered from one patch of vegetation to another 
till they came to the bottom, where they swung on 
to a dirt-train and were carried along the cut to 
Empire. 

All was busy in the great Cut as they rumbled 
along ; the place seemed a human beehive. It looked 
to Harry about five or six hundred feet wide; but 
the banks, though high, were not so lofty and pre- 
cipitate here as at Culebra, where the highest point 
of land was pierced. In the bottom of the Cut were 
railroad tracks, running parallel, converging, sepa- 
rating; the place was a perfect maze of rails and 
switches. At every switch they passed or crossed, 
a jet-black negro jumped out of a little iron shelter, 
waved a flag, and disappeared like the figure on a 
cuckoo-clock. The place was full of moving trains, 
and sometimes at the junctions they grazed one an- 
other; but they never collided, and there was no 
blocking or congestion, though they seemed to be 
continually crossing one another’s paths. Up on the 
sloping sides were perched men, here and there, like 
Brownies, managing the deafening drills whose 
long, snake-like tubing wound away from them 
over dirt and among rocks, to the compressed-air 
main which ran somewhere through the Cut. 

Far over against the opposite cliff a monster ma- 
chine was puffing out black smoke, through which 
Harry could just discern a stout metal arm slant- 
ing upward which appeared to be moving. He ven- 


AT PANAMA 


125 

tured his first remark since they had entered the 
Cut. 

Is that a Lidgerwood's Unloader, Mr. Bar- 
ney ? ’’ 

No, that’s a shovel — they’re working a pilot 
cut; looks like 52.” 

To Harry it looked like a specter bowing and 
bending in its cloud of black smoke; and still he did 
not know what a Lidgerwood’s Unloader was, and 
here was another mystery, — pilot cut.” He had 
discovered, however, that Mr. Barney was not in the 
mood to act as tourist guide and explain things. 

“ Here we are — hop off.” 

They alighted near the side of the Cut, crossed an 
empty dirt-train which stood on a siding, and there, 
close against the cliff, stood good old “ 82.” To 
Harry the monster shovel looked something like the 
caboose of a freight-train, except that the under part 
was heavier and more massive. A large smokestack 
rose out of the center of its corrugated iron roof, 
and there was a door or two, awninged windows on 
either side of the cab, or shanty, or house — what- 
ever you chose to call it. There was a sort of porch 
at one end, and from the other a mammoth steel 
derrick, fully as long as the car itself, extended at 
an angle of about forty-five degrees. This derrick 
was crossed midway by a heavy steel arm which 
could be moved backward and forward by means of 
a great wheel and heavy chains. From the end of 


126 


BOY SCOUTS 


the derrick, on other extensible chains, there hung 
an enormous metal scoop. It was prevented from 
hanging loose and swinging at random by the cross- 
bar which extended from the middle of the derrick, 
and to the end of which it was attached. 

Thus, as Harry saw, this great scoop could be 
raised and lowered by the derrick chains, and all the 
while held rigid in any desired position by the con- 
necting bar. While the dipper hung upon its great 
chains, this bar could push it out beyond plumb- 
line, holding it this way or that, so that it could be 
poked forcibly in any direction, while in mid-air, 
and of course could never bang against the derrick 
or stave in the car. The chains were now slack, so 
that the scoop rested on the ground. Four great 
wedges, like a set of stupendous teeth, projected 
from its edge; and, straddling two of these, there 
sat a couple of men in overalls, apparently waiting. 

‘‘ Did they send the oil ? ” demanded Mr. Barney, 
as he jumped down from the dirt-car, followed by 
Harry. 

“ Haven’t seen it; what’s the trouble? ” 

Oh, I had to go down to Culebra, to the office. 
Here, you, George, or you, Arnold, go over and tele- 
phone Supplies that I didn’t get my oil.” 

Harry had not the slightest notion where the tele- 
phone might be, but he hurried back across the dirt- 
train, thinking that if he must ask any questions it 
would be better to ask them of some one else than of 


AT PANAMA 


127 


Mr. Barney. He worked his way between trains 
and found a switchman’s shelter two or three hun- 
dred feet across the Cut. 

Got a ’phone here? ” he asked the smiling Jamai- 
can negro. 

Yes, suh; raht thah, suh.” 

When Harry got back, Mr. Barney looked down 
from the window of the car; his khaki shirt was 
rolled up and opened in so many places that it 
seemed hardly worth while at all. What’d they 
say?” 

Said it’s coming up on Warner’s train — ought 
to be here now.” 

“ All right, you help the men down there awhile 
now, till we catch up.” 

Mr. Barney was engineer — that is to say, cap- 
tain — of steam-shovel No. 82. He had an assis- 
tant engineer and a fireman with him, while outside 
was the “ crew,” consisting of three pitmen, though 
Harry, if he could be so called, made a fourth. The 
pitmen were ordinary laborers or silver men, whose 
business it was to keep relaying the track as the en- 
gine cut its way along, and to do anything else that 
they were told to do ; to wait upon “ 82 ” and pay 
her such attention as she might need. For a steam- 
shovel is a lady, and no one but the tenderest of 
tenderfeet would dream of calling her “ it.” 

They were right on the outskirts or “ scatter ” of 
a slide which had been active through the night and 


128 


BOY SCOUTS 


which, if they had been a few feet farther on, would 
have buried 82.” As it was, the men were clear- 
ing the track ahead which had been laid the night 
before, and Harry fell to and helped. He soon 
learned that Mr. Barney, by means of persistent 
attacks upon the office, had a way of securing the 
best helpers. Up at the office the cry was, “ Any- 
thing to get rid of him,” and now Harry found him- 
self among a class of silver men whom it was pleas- 
ant to know. There were no negroes on 82’s staff. 
Mr. Barney had talked the office deaf, dumb, and 
blind on that matter, but had carried his point. “ I 
can’t make them work,” he said. 

Two of the pitmen were East Indians, and Harry 
admired their tall, strong, graceful forms, their 
dreamy faces, and kinglike bearing. They were 
good workers, and reminded him of the people in 
Kim,” which he had read. The third was a burly 
Irishman who must have been a longshoreman at 
some time, for he would call Yo-ho ” whenever 
they hauled a rail to place, which seemed to help the 
work immensely. He took a great interest in 
Harry, saying, Good fur you!” or Thot’s the 
by 1 ” whenever Harry exerted his strength. 

But the working of the shovel was what fasci- ’ 
nated Harry, and he was never tired of watching it. 
He acted as a sort of general helper through the day, 
up in the engine-room, wiping the smooth, oily steel 
with cotton waste, taking, as best he might, the place 


AT PANAMA 


129 


of the assistant who was cosily ensconced in the little 
cubby-hole down at the base of the crane, where, 
obedient to suggestions shouted from above, he 
swung it this way and that, dropping the dipper 
against the embankment, pushing it into earth or 
working it under some great boulder till the stone 
was safely balanced upon its edge, then swinging it 
around till its burden went tumbling into the waiting 
dirt-train. They loaded a car every four minutes; 
this was dangerously close up to “ 64,” which had 
been averaging three and a half minutes for the 
past week, 

‘Tis oonly a question of toime,” said Kerrigan, 
whin we’ll have thim bate althegither.” 

. As fast as the trains were filled, away they rattled 
along the network of tracks, rolling down the slope, 
for in the office it had been arranged so that the 
shovels always worked above the level of the trains, 
and the full trains rolled downhill and away to the 
dumps or to present their loads to the great Gatun 
Dam, as the case might be. 

At eleven o’clock, when the whistle blew, all 
hurried out of the Cut, not because they were anx- 
ious for an excuse to stop work, but because the 
midday blast was at hand, and it was just as well to 
be a few feet away. Harry used his first meal 
ticket at the messhouse in Empire, and was waiting 
for the others when they returned. Late in the 
afternoon, an hour or so before second blast,” 


130 


BOY SCOUTS 


Mr. Barney, who had scarcely uttered an unneces- 
sary word all day, began to “ loosen up ” and to 
chat more or less from the window. 

He ahlwus does thot way,” said Kerrigan. 

“What is it, George, thirty-four?” he called 
down to the craneman. 

“ Thirty-five, I make it,” was the answer. 

“ That’s going some,” he smilingly observed, 
wiping his forehead. For the first time his manner 
encouraged Harry to speak. 

“ What does that mean, Mr. Barney? ” he asked. 

“ Thirty-five hundred cubic yards turned over 
since eight o’clock.” 

“That’s a good deal, isn’t it?” Harry said. 

“ Equal to the hand work of about six hundred 
men,” he called down, smiling at Harry’s surprise. 
“ Thirty-eight hundred, and we’ll have the record. 
Well, how do you like it?” he added pleasantly, 
resting his elbows on the window-ledge. 

“ Fine.” 

“ Tired?” 

“ Not enough to kill me.” 

It was nearly closing time now, and the last car of 
the last train was waiting for its load. Mr. Barney 
looked down to where Harry stood, filthy and pant- 
ing, and perhaps the thought came to him that after 
all this was just a boy who had worked so faithfully 
at whatever he had been told to do throughout the 
strenuous day, his first day under Uncle Sam, Boss. 


AT PANAMA 


131 

I suppose you’d like a chance to swing that 
crane, wouldn’t you ? ” he called. 

It’s my middle name, Mr. Barney,” Harry 
answered back, with the boyish frankness that every 
one liked. You guessed right the first time.” 

“Ha, ha! All right, climb up there; George’ll 
show you. Let him have the chain, George.” 

It was a very cosy little bunk, where you got 
rides, halfway round and back, all day. 

“ Don’t be scairt, me by 1 ” Kerrigan called en- 
couragingly. 

“ Here, Kerrigan,” called Barney, good-naturedly, 
“ you get away from there ! Don’t you tell him any- 
thing — let him find out for himself.” 

Here it was again, thought Harry. “ It’s a great 
thing to find a way, my boy,” old Mr. Wentworth 
had said. “ Don’t show him — let him find out,” 
now came down from the window of the engine- 
room. That is the way that strong men learn ; and 
Gordon Lord, using the phrase in his lighter and 
more boyish way, was a lesson, young and impulsive 
as he was, for he delighted to “ find ways ; ” he was 
always hunting for them and always finding them. 

“ Now, let’s see you put that rock on the car,” 
called Barney. 

The engineer of the dirt-train peered out of his 
cab to see the fun. The trainmen smilingly waited, 
Kerrigan was dying to give advice. Several young 
fellows nearer Harry’s age (he thought they might 


132 


BOY SCOUTS 


be surveyors from their attire) stopped to enjoy 
the coming spectacle. Harry had a vague idea that 
something ridiculous was going to happen and that 
they all knew it. 

“ Keerful, keerful, me by! Ye’ll hev the forfeit 
to pay — keerful,” warned the generous Kerrigan. 

Harry, manipulating the chains, sent the scoop 
on a wild-goose chase around to the wrong side 
of the shovel, over the dirt-car. 

“ Fine! ” called some one. 

Going to dump a load of air on the train?” 
another asked. Barney, his arms resting on the 
window-ledge, watched the maneuvers, smiling. 
The dipper made one or two mysterious plunges, 
finally dived earthward, and, picking up a teaspoon- 
ful of soil, swung off, proudly triumphant. 

“ That tacks about half a cubic inch on to our 
record,” Barney called cheerfully. 

‘‘ Here’s where she comes,” some one encouraged, 
as the dipper, like a lumbering airship, floated over 
the rock without so much as touching it. 

''It just won’t behave, will it?” called the fire- 
man, mockingly. 

The two East Indiamen looked on, grave but in- 
terested. The generous Kerrigan was all excitement 
and apprehension, but he scarcely dared speak, and 
the advice that Harry received from the others was 
hardly practicable. One suggested that he get down 
on the ground and whistle to the dipper. But 


AT PANAMA 


133 


finally the playful scoop was poked against the rock, 
edged under it until the boulder was dislodged and 
stood securely resting on the dipper, as Harry had 
seen a dozen boulders hoisted during the day. 
Around it went, amid a complimentary silence, until 
he thought it was directly over the car. Then — oh, 
then — off it went, back into Culebra Cut on the 
farther side of the dirt-train. 

“ The object of the puzzle, ladies and gentlemen,” 
called out George, from his position just outside 
the crane, “ is to get the boulder into the car.” 

It could not be left where it was, in the path of 
another train; the whistle was about to herald the 
afternoon blast; and Harry’s inglorious career as a 
craneman must be interrupted. After it was lifted 
by George (which seemed a very easy matter) the 
day’s work was over, and Mr. Barney, unkempt and- 
perspiring, but smiling, came down and introduced 
Harry to the young fellows who stood about. He 
seemed a different man now, ready to joke and 
talk. 

It appeared that Kerrigan’s fears were well- 
founded; Harry was no exception to the rule, and 
must pay the forfeit. 

Guess you’ll have to, Arnold,” said Mr. Barney. 

“ For throwing rocks in Culebra Cut, in violation 
of the sanitary regulation that discarded matter 
shall not be thrown about,” added one. 

“ For cruelly ill-treating a steel scoop in vio- 


134 


BOY SCOUTS 


lation of the rule prohibiting cruel and inhuman 
treatment of steam-shovels,” volunteered another. 

“ For overloading a harmless dipper with a table- 
spoonful of earth,” said a third. 

Suppose I ref — ” began Harry. 

“ Then,” said one of the young fellows, solemnly, 
you are not a member of the Forfeit Club and can- 
not participate.” 

“ Oh, ril do it,” laughed Harry. '' What’s the 
forfeit?’-^’ 

Brave, noble youth,” said one. 

“ The forfeit,” said another, “ is that when you 
are washed and dressed this afternoon, you shall 
approach the first respectable gentleman you meet, 
remembering always to be polite, and ask him kindly 
to direct you to the — the — ” 

“ The Panama Canal,” suggested another. 

‘‘ Right,” concluded the speaker, “ the Panama 
Canal.” 

It was evident from Mr. Barney’s face that these 
things were not at all uncommon, and Harry was 
the last boy in the world not to fall into the spirit 
of it. He went away with them resolved to “ die 
game,” which was his nature, and Mr. Barney and 
the crew of Mistress 82 bade him a hearty good 
night. 

“Is he coomin’ back ter-morrer?” Kerrigan 
called out as he threw a canvas over some part of 
the mechanism. 


AT PANAMA 


135 


“Sure,” answered Barney. “Why? You don't 
suppose they'll kill him, do you? He can handle 
any two among them with one hand.” 

And that was the only comment he made in regard 
to Harry throughout the hustling, busy day. 

There was not much danger of a quarrel with 
these new friends. They were as fine a set as it had 
ever been Harry’s good fortune to meet. Two of 
them were draughtsmen, he found, and one a sur- 
veyor. The other two were evidently on the clerical 
force which he so dreaded. Nothing was said about 
the forfeit as they took him to the Empire club- 
house, which was much like the one at home (he 
meant Culebra when he said “Home”), and here 
he got rid of the loose soil (several cubic feet, to use 
the proper phrase) which he had brought from 
Culebra Cut. He brushed up his serge suit and cap, 
and then they went with him to Empire’s commis- 
sary store, where, with their advice, he bought sev- 
eral things that he would need, — among them two 
white duck suits and a pair of thin, high-topped 
boots. And so, wearing his regular clothing and 
with his bundle under his arm, he may have looked 
quite like a new arrival when he suddenly espied, 
coming around the corner of the Disbursement 
Office, a man in white duck (though, indeed, every- 
body wore that), who had a white mustache and a 
humorous, genial face. 

Boldly, but respectfully, Harry advanced while 


BOY SCOUTS 


136 

his companions silently retreated to the steps of a 
neighboring bungalow. 

“ Excuse me, sir,’’ said Harry. Could you tell 
me where I could find the Panama Canal ? ” 

The faintest shadow of a smile stole over the 
gentleman’s face. ‘‘ The Panama Canal ? ” said he. 
“ Certainly. You go right up this street till you 
come to the Isthmus ; the Panama Canal is the second 
turn to your left ; you can’t miss it.” 

Thank you,” said Harry. 

Not at all,” said the gentleman, and walked on. 

When Harry rejoined his companions they were 
going through a variety of gymnastics to keep from 
letting their laughter burst into sound. 

“ Do you know who that was ? ” 

No, who?” 

“ That was Colonel Gorgas, head of the Sanitary 
Department, man that cleaned up the Canal Zone.” 

“ Wh-e-w ! ” commented Harry. 

‘‘What’dhesay?” 

“ Said to go down this street till I came to the 
Isthmus, and the Panama Canal would be the second 
turn to my left; said I couldn’t miss it.” 

‘‘ Did he, on the level ? ” asked one. 

“ That’s just like him,” said another. 

And, sure enough, it was just exactly like him. 


CHAPTER VIII 


JACK HOLDEN 

So Harry began his work on the Panama Canal 
out on the line/’ and liked it and was proud of old 
82.” He soon began to call her “ the lady ” and 
say what she ” would do, and talk about cubic 
yards and rock excavation like a regular old veteran. 
He claimed that if she ‘‘ had a dipper-stick like loi,” 
she could have put loi ” in the background long 
ago. But even still she would do it; We’ve got to 
urge her a little, that’s all, she likes to be coaxed.” 
And it must be admitted that if shoveling coal under 
her boiler and burying her in black smoke were 
coaxing, she received a sufficiency of such gentle 
wheedling. 

Harry was now in the house ” with Mr. Barney, 
whose assistant, George, was permanently in the 
crane. But now and then he hopped down to give 
the pitmen a hand, and Kerrigan would slap him 
on the shoulder and say, ‘‘ Yur ahl roight, me by; 
kape it oop ; coom down, yur ahlways welcome ! ” 
For some reason, the big Irishman had taken Harry 
under his wing, and made no secret of his fondness 
for the boy. There was only one thing that Kerrigan 
137 


BOY SCOUTS 


138 

thought more of than of “ 82/’ and that was his 
citizenship papers, creased, crumpled, and dirty, 
which he kept in his pocket to prove, at a moment’s 
notice, his allegiance to Uncle Sam. 

But Harry had his troubles — his haunting vis- 
ions — and so had Kerrigan. The boy was always 
dreading that he would receive “ further orders ” 
to report at the office. He knew that he was only a 
plug,” so-called, temporarily filling the place of 
another, and he feared that as soon as Mr. Barney 
took his eagle eye from the office they would 
take advantage of it by immediately sending for 
him. 

Also, in a lesser way, he dreaded the call of the 
inspector at Quarters, for fear that Vasco Nunez 
would be unceremoniously ousted. Anticipating 
this, he had not bought a regular cage, and Vasco 
spent his evenings on the towel-rack and in the day- 
time, during Harry’s absence, slept in his little 
wicker basket. Harry did not admit that he cared 
very much about this matter ; but he did for all that, 
for Vasco Nunez had begun to win his way into 
his affections and become a companion when the 
boy, too tired to go out, would sit and read through 
the long evenings, or sometimes just sit back idly 
watching the bird’s whimsical antics. He said a 
good many things which Harry could not under- 
stand, but the bananas, or the “ balanas,” as he called 
them, still troubled him, so that Harry came to 


AT PANAMA 


139 

think that the poor bird must have an hallucination 
on the subject. 

One other thing troubled him just a little. He 
dreaded seeing Mr. Carleton Conne. He knew that 
Mr. Conne would make fun of him, or look at him 
in that pleasantly exasperating way, if he talked 
about excavation and records and five-yard dippers. 
He remembered how Mr. Conne had said, You’ll 
go daft like the rest of them;” and sure enough, 
he was right, for now Harry could think and talk 
of little else. 

Kerrigan’s trouble was of a different nature, and 
more perplexing. One noontime, after dinner, as 
they sat together on the teeth of the dipper, waiting 
for Mr. Barney, he confided it to Harry. 

Well,” said he, coom Friday, we’ll have thim 
bate, more’s the pity, but Oi’m glad av it.” 

Why ‘ more’s the pity,’ if you’re glad of it, 
Mike ? ” laughed Harry. 

“ Did yez niver hear tell av the lad thot wint to 
the warr and seen his brother amongst the inimy? 
‘ Oi’ll shoot him ! ’ sez he, ‘ only Oi hope me gun 
ain’t loaded.’ ” 

‘‘Have you a brother on loi, then?” laughed 
Harry. 

“ Oi hev not, nor a sister, nayther ; but there’s 
McConnell oop in the ingine.” 

“A friend?” 

“ Sure, ye niver seen a betther wan. Me an’ him 


140 


BOY SCOUTS 


coom to Americy thegither and worrkt thegither on 
the same job, an’ what must he do but go to the night 
school ? Wuz ye iver to the night school ? ” 

No,” said Harry. 

‘‘ Thin ye’ve missed it, an’ Oi’m sorry for that. 
A brisk, diver lad like you cud git to be the head 
judge av the coort if ye wuz to the night school. 
Well, McConnell, he wint to the night school an’ 
the furst thing ye knew, he wuz makin’ out me 
money orrders fur me, that I sint to the Quid 
Counthryl Ye should iv seen the ghrand curves 
and floorishes he had. Look at him now ! Wherre 
is he? Oop in loi wid near three hunderd dollars 
fur ’im on ivery paytrain, and me doon here wid 
a pick and shoovel. Av coorse, Misther Barney 
will niver shtay on a stame-shoovel ; ’ tis jist a flier 
fur ’im, him thot kin do tricks wid the Aggers; ’tis 
a mechinical ingineer he’ll be, whin all this fun is 
over, an’ he’ll be mixin’ wid sich-like as the Quid 
Man himsilf — Goothals. Ye know ’im? ” 

“ I haven’t seen him yet, Mike.” 

No? Well, but McConnell, he kin git a job on 
anny locomotive in the United States afther this. 
It ahl cooms from goin’ to the night school. Ah, ye 
should a’ wint to the night school.” 

“ But you don’t want McConnell to have the 
record, do you, Mike ? ” 

“ Oi do not, but Oi doon’t want ter see ’im lose 
it, nayther.” 


AT PANAMA 


141 

Well, one of us has got to lose it, Mike. We’re 
the only two in the game — the others don’t count. 
Friday’ll tell the story.” 

“ An’ a black Friday ’twill be, ayther way ye 
put it.” 

I suppose a fellow’s first duty is to his boss,” 
Harry said. 

'' Well, an’ how aboot his frind? ” 

‘‘ He must never be a traitor — must he, Mike? ” 

“ A thraither ! Who said thraither ? D’ye say 
Oi’m a thraither ? ” he shouted. 

I didn’t say anything of the kind,” said Harry, 
half laughing, and I don’t think it, either.” 

‘‘ Well, thin ! ” subsided Mike. 

‘‘ Well, then,” Harry mocked, “ what’s all the 
fuss about? ” 

. What d’ye think Oi am ? Sure, a mon kin lurrn 
his juty widout iver goin’ to night school.” 

I don’t think you ever learned your duty, Mike.” 

Phwa-a-t ? ” he roared. 

I think it just comes natural to you.” 

“ Well, thin.” 

“ And I believe you’d go and sit down on that 
rock over there at second blast this afternoon and be 
blown to pieces before you’d see old 82 lose the 
month’s record.” 

Well, thin.” 

Well, then, there’s no misunderstanding, is 
there ? ” 


142 


BOY SCOUTS 


'' Yur a foine by. Didn’t I say it the furst day I 
seen ye? Well, thin.” 

That afternoon they worked like Trojans, beating 
the previous day’s record by sixty-one cubic yards. 
Old 82 ” dug her way along amid din and smoke, 
the men laying the track for her as she moved ahead, 
and Kerrigan calling, Yo-ho! ” to keep them active 
and encouraged. Now and then a little time would 
be lost balancing a huge boulder on the dipper, but 
they would make it up in some way. One after an- 
other, the ever ready trains moved into place; then, 
with the clank of chains and the deafening hiss of 
escaping steam, the dipper would descend on the em- 
bankment side, bury its teeth in the earth, like some 
animate monster, swing around over the car, and 
open its bottom and dump its big load exactly where 
it was wanted. Though all were busy and engrossed, 
there was always more or less pleasantry over the 
lifting of a boulder, and even Mr. Barney would 
look from his window to see it go around balanced 
precariously on the dipper’s edge. Its progress was 
always attended with some suspense, and its safe 
landing followed by a sense of relief and triumph. 

Mr. Barney would often send Harry to examine 
boulders in the path, to report how they lay, how 
firmly embedded they were, and so forth, so that 
time might be saved on reaching them, and it de- 
lighted the boy to see that as time passed his little 
chalk-marks were observed and considered, as if his 


AT PANAMA 


143 


judgment had a real value. But he liked best to be 
up near the actual machinery of the engine. He 
loved to watch the smooth, oily piston moving, to 
smell the oil, to attend with can or waste upon the 
needs of the steady, tireless mechanism which 
seemed almost human. 

Across the ditch loi ” could be seen in her cloud 
of smoke, her tiny attendants flitting about her. 
Her trains were unloading at Tabernilla Dump, 
where 82 ’s ’’ trains were also unloading. Here 
the Lidgerwood’s Unloader did the trick for both. 
This was a mammoth plow, drawn along the train 
by an eighty- ton pull of steam power, emptying it in 
five minutes, after which the train would immedi- 
ately start back for the Cut. 

In this roundabout way “ 82 would get some 
inkling, from time to time, of how much loi ” 
was turning over.” And “ loi ” acquired inside 
information in the same way. The train crews, 
coming back, had usually some bit of dump gossip, 
and it appeared from all Mr. Barney could learn 
that 10 1 ” was a few yards ahead when this day 
(the last but two of the month) came to an end. 

At all events, they would have to turn over ” 
five thousand cubics ” in the next two days to beat 

loi’s ” last month’s record, as published, and there 
seemed every reason to think that “ loi ” would 
beat her own last month’s record by a substantial 
figure — '' unless they’re jollying us,” as Mr. Barney 


144 


BOY SCOUTS 


added. In a word, there would be some dirt ” fly- 
ing in the next two days, and Mr. Barney, when he 
came down out of his “ throne room,” buttoning his 
shirt and letting down his sleeves, sent Harry over 
to the ’phone to tell Repairs ” to be sure to over- 
haul his swinging circle, as promised, and to put the 
rivets in his boom, also, as promised. No sooner 
was Harry returned from this errand than back he 
went to tell '' Supplies ” to leave two tons of coal in- 
stead of one, and not to forget the oil. 

The supply and repair trains were creatures of 
the night, overhauling machinery and leaving ma- 
terial and provisions in the wee, dark hours, for it 
would have been the height of disrespect to ask Mis- 
tress 82, or Mistress any other number, to go down 
to the shops to be repaired. No self-respecting 
steam-shovel would hear of such a thing. A steam- 
shovel knows its position and must be treated with 
deference and courtesy. 

She all right, Mike?” said Mr. Barney, bang- 
ing his hat against the crane to relieve it of its day’s 
accumulation of dirt and dust. 

“ She’s ahl roight, an’ swate drames to her,” said 
Kerrigan. ‘‘ Here, me lady,” he added, throwing a 
canvas over the big cog-wheels in the crane, “ put 
your nightcap on.” 

“ All right,” said Barney, heartily. Good-night, 
boys. Come along, Arnold.” 

It was “ Scout night,” and Harry was going to 


AT PANAMA 


145 


supper with Mr. Barney, then to Scout meeting in 
the Empire Clubhouse. He had been looking for- 
ward to this ever since the first day. As “ 82 ” was 
working close to Empire and on the town side, they 
had but to clamber up the embankment, and Harry 
followed as best he might Mr. Barney’s vigorous 
strides among the neat little bungalows. As was 
often the case, it was hard to talk with him, for he 
was not always disposed to familiar conversation, 
and his answers of, Yes,” Sure,” and Guess 
so,” did not seem to invite familiarity or conver- 
sation. 

Oh, but I hope we’ll top it ! ” Harry said enthu- 
siastically. 

“ Like your quarters ? ” 

Yes, fine; I like everything.” 

He looked at Harry sideways, in his critically 
scrutinizing way. What do you do nights, 

mostly ? ” 

Just stay home.” 

Don’t go into the city much, eh — Panama ? ” 

“ Pve been there only once, so far.” 

“ Eh, eh.” 

Mr. Barney, did you know that Kerrigan knows 
the captain of loi ? ” 

Yes, they’re boyhood friends. McConnell’s one 
of those smart Irishmen that’s worked his way up.” 

'' You don’t — er — I like Kerrigan, don’t you? ” 

Yes, he’s a fine fellow — good worker.” 


146 


BOY SCOUTS 


'' Wouldn’t you suppose he’d rather work with' 
McConnell ? ” 

He did try to, but I was short of men and the 
office gave him to me as a plug; I’ve had him ever 
since. Fellow I had before him I had to throw 
out — he was too busy with a motor-cycle. You 
can’t tend to a motor-cycle and a steam-shovel too.” 

“ I guess Mike’s satisfied,” Harry ventured. 

No answer. 

I guess — I don’t suppose,” he blurted out, “ that 
there’s any danger, Mr. Barney.” 

** Danger of what? ” 

Harry hardly knew how to proceed. 

“ Well, I heard two of the fellows downstairs in 
my quarters — they asked me into their room, and 
they were saying something about some one fixing a 
shovel.” 

“ Repairing it, they meant? ” 

No, I don’t think they did, Mr. Barney.” 

Then there followed another silence, broken only 
by the sounding footfalls of Mr. Barney as he strode 
along the winding gravel walk. 

“ Well, we have to take our chances, Arnold, if 
you mean the other kind of fixing.” 

“ But you believe in Kerrigan, don’t you? ” 

Do you suppose I’d have him there, if I didn’t? 
But duty is duty, and conscience is conscience, and 
human nature is human nature. If you were to be 
brought up for stealing, say, and your uncle was the 


AT PANAMA 


147 


judge, they wouldn’t let him try the case — see? 
That wouldn’t mean he wasn’t honest. It only 
means we have to make allowance for human na- 
ture — always; just the same as we have to make al- 
lowance for escape in a cylinder.” 

“ Do you always make allowance, Mr. Barney ? 
Do you always think of people that way? ” 

‘‘ N-n-o,” he said, cheerfully conditional. “ For- 
eigners — uneducated foreigners — are very clannish; 
I make some allowance for them, yes; same as I’d 
make some allowance for an impulsive young fellow. 
I don’t mean I’d forgive him for any wrong-doing, 
or justify him, but I’d explain it in that way. Well, 
here we are.” 

This was a good deal for Mr. Barney to say, but 
he was loosening up,” as the evening advanced, as 
per schedule. He lived in a pretty little bungalow, 
with his young wife and a sturdy little fellow of five, 
the image of himself. Here’s the only Boy Scout 
for you,” said he. “ Keep away till I get washed ! 
That’s right — see him make the full salute, Arnold ? 
How’s that? Hello, Jack, when did you come? I 
didn’t see you.” 

A young man in the uniform of the regular army 
rose from a wicker chair in a recess of the little 
screen-enclosed porch. He was not as tall as Harry, 
but standing straight, as soldiers do, he seemed taller 
than he really was. He had blue eyes which blinked 
nervously, and a little nervous smile seemed to hover 


148 


BOY SCOUTS 


on his lips as if it did not know whether to come 
boldly out for what it was or to die away altogether. 
He seemed a pleasant, amiable-looking young fel- 
low, but though evidently popular with the little boy 
he was disconcerted and ill at ease with Mr. Barney. 
Harry was not surprised at that ; he had suffered the 
same feeling himself more than once. 

“ Mr. Barney,” said the young man, hesitatingly, 
“ I couldn’t come and drill the Scouts last Tuesday. 
I wasn’t feeling — ” 

“ That’s all right. Jack,” said Barney. ‘‘ Any 
time will do; I just thought a little drilling by a 
real soldier might please them, you know. They 
were a lot disappointed, but it’s no matter. Feeling 
better?” 

Yes, I think I am.” 

Fever all gone, eh? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

Well, that’s good. Come in and eat with us, 
won’t you? ” 

“No, thank you; I’ve got to be in barracks at 
six. Shall I come next week, some night ? ” 

“ Yes, yes; we always meet Tuesdays, you know. 
Come any time.” 

“ I do wish you could do something for him, 
Tom,” said his wife, after the young man had gone. 
“ I feel dreadfully sorry for him. I don’t think he’s 
contented.” 

Harry sat down to supper with the little family in 


AT PANAMA 


149 


the pleasant, screened porch. A few yards down the 
hill the men were pouring out of the Empire repair 
shops, some coming up the hill and entering other 
little bungalows or bachelor quarters, some hurry- 
ing for the Pacific or Atlantic train. The provisions 
which the young housewives of the Isthmus found 
at Uncle Sam’s stores were always fresh and whole- 
some, and Harry enjoyed this pleasant, home-cooked 
meal immensely. 

Well,” said Barney, Jack knew what the army 
was when he went into it; he chose his work and 
now he’s got to see it through — same as you and I 
have.” 

“ Oh, you know it isn’t the same as it is with us, 
Tom. We can pack up and go home any time; they 
wouldn’t send bloodhounds after us and throw us 
into prison.” 

They wouldn’t send bloodhounds after him, 
either,” Barney laughed. 

Well, but they’d throw him into prison.” 

“ Yes, of course they’d do that.” 

If they caught him,” ventured Harry. 

Oh, they’d catch him, all right ; they make a 
point of doing that as a matter of principle and dis- 
cipline. But I’m not so sure but what we’d be de- 
serters, too, if we packed up and went home.” 

Yes, but you know, Tom, there are different 
kinds of desertion.” 

'' No, I don’t know that ; there’s only the one 


BOY SCOUTS 


I5<^ 

kind; same as there’s only the one kind of stealing.” 

Mrs. Barney looked at Harry as if to say that it 
was very hard to argue with her husband. 

** I don’t like to think of Uncle Sam in that way,” 
said Harry ; “ hunting a man down for weeks or 
months and bringing him back by the collar and 
throwing him into a dungeon. I like to think of him 
as I saw a picture of him just before I came away — 
as my boss, with a smile on his bully old face.” 

'‘Oh, that’s just splendid,” said Mrs. Barney; 
" that’s the way I like to think of him, too! I like 
to think of him as generous and good-natured, as he 
really is.” 

" Well, it’s good you two don’t run the army,” 
commented Mr. Barney. " All Jack Holden has to 
do is to keep his word with the government and the 
government will treat him right and keep its word 
with him, same as it does with me. But he can’t do 
that; he couldn’t even keep his word with me. He 
said he was coming to give the boys a drill, and 
he didn’t show up. Now, a week later, he comes 
around with the same old story he’s always giving 
the army doctors — sick, sick, sick ! ” 

" Well, you know he was sick, Tom.” 

" They don’t seem to think he needs a leave of 
absence; I suppose they know.” 

" Where is he quartered? ” asked Harry. 

“ Right up here at Camp Otis ; ’tween here and 
’Bispo, where they dug the new roa4-” 


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iSi 

^‘^Have you always known him, Mr. Barney?’* 

** Yes, he comes from up our way — Missouri.” 

I wish we could do something for him,” said his 
young wife. 

‘‘ Well, we can’t. And if I could get him a job 
as chief engineer of the ditch, that wouldn’t let him 
out of the army. And that’s what he’s got to learn. 
He’s a nice enough boy, too. All he needs to do is 
to brace up and make the best of it — stop buying 
lottery tickets and knock off cigarettes, and keep his 
word.” 

While Mr. Barney was getting his Scout Manual, 
his wife managed to say a confidential word to 
Harry. 

‘‘ I do hope you’ll get along with Mr. Barney,” 
she said; “ he thinks so much of you.” 

I didn’t know whether he did or not,” said 
Harry. 

“ Oh yes, he does, but you mustn’t expect him to 
say so — that isn’t like him. You have to understand 
him; he has a very high sense of duty and he’s very 
strict. Sometimes he seems — just a little — heart- 
less, maybe. He hasn’t much sympathy with weak- 
ness or temptation.” 

He says they explain, but they don’t justify,” 
said Harry. 

‘‘Yes, that’s just like him,” she agreed; “but 
you’ll get along splendidly ; I know you will, and so 
does he.” 


BOY SCOUTS 


152 

Mr. Barney, Harry, and little Tom, resplendent 
and proud in his scout regalia, went over to the Em- 
pire Clubhouse, and into a room upstairs where a 
dozen or so boys were playing games while waiting. 
It seemed to Harry that several of them were under 
the scout age limit, and certainly little Tom was; 
none of them were much above it. They seemed to 
be all Americans, and Harry supposed they came 
from family quarters here and there along the line 
and were the sons of men employed by the Commis- 
sion. 

Boys,” said Mr. Barney, ‘‘ I’ve got something to 
say to you and I want you all to listen. This is Mr. 
Arnold — Harry Arnold — who comes from Oak- 
dale — or, I mean, Oakwood, New Jersey, to work 
on the Canal. He’s a sort of assistant scoutmaster 
up there, knows all about it ; and so I’m going to ask 
him to be the same down here. I don’t mean that 
he’ll take my place, for you wouldn’t want to have 
to think that your scoutmaster was a deserter. I’m 
not that, I hope. But you know how busy I’ve been 
lately, and even my evenings are often occupied. 
I’m not sorry I brought you together, and I’m proud 
of our little troop. I believe the Alligators are as 
good as any patrol up in the States. And I’m going 
to continue to be head Alligator. I’ll come to every 
meeting that I can. But I’m going to ask Arnold 
to take you in hand and give you the benefit of his 
experience. He’ll always report to me, and you’ll 


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153 


know that I’m thinking about you and planning for 
you even when I’m not on the spot. You can pay 
him your dues, too. I’m sorry the soldier didn’t 
come to drill you last week, but he may come yet, 
and we won’t think any more about it till we see 
him.” 

It was the first time Harry had seen lilr. Barney 
in a really offhand mood since he had heard him 
** jollying ” the young man about baseball that first 
day in the train. He was glad to see it, especially 
after the supper-table talk, and it put him in the same 
spirit himself. He was not so much in awe of Mr. 
Barney now as in working hours. 

Scouts,” he said, “ I never knew till this minute 
what I was to be, but I am a scout and I hope I’m 
prepared. The best friend I have, the best friend 
any fellow could have, is a little chap about fourteen 
up home whom we call our troop mascot, and he’s 
my particular chum — keeps me straight and posted 
up on the scout law. So I come pretty near knowing 
tender feet and second-class scouts and how to mix 
up with them. I suppose none of you fellows have 
passed your first-class tests yet. I may have picked 
up a few stunts, knocking around the woods, and 
you’re welcome to them, such as they are.” 

He paused, half doubtfully, with a kind of boyish 
uncertainty whether Mr. Barney approved of what 
he was saying, but being encouraged, went on. 

Anyway, I’ll do all I can and I guess it will be 


154 


BOY SCOUTS 


as much fun for me as for you. Of course, I don’t 
know how I’ll succeed. My friend (Gordon Lord, 
his name is) says I’m only half a scout anyway be- 
cause I can’t manage the uniform; I’ve always been 
a kind of tramp summertimes ; but I tell him he’s a 
scout and a half, so that makes two full scouts.” 
(Laughter.) “ Anyway, if you really feel you could 
trust me with weekly dues, I guess I can contrive 
not to run away with them.” (Laughter.) ‘‘ And, 
er — oh, there’s one more thing, and I’m going to 
take it right out of Mr. Barney's hands. That’s 
about this soldier boy. I met him to-night, and he’s 
just got to come over and give us a drill; we’ll make 
him. I think the reason he doesn’t come is that he’s 
afraid of Mr. Barney — ” (Great laughter.) ‘‘but 
we’ll have to think of a way, as my young chum 
says, to get him over here. Maybe we could use one 
of those things they have in the Cut — a — what is 
it? — a trackshifter, to haul him over. Anyway, now 
that I’m an Alligator we’ll manage it somehow. I 
suppose I seem like a big fellow to you, but every 
one around here is calling me ‘ Kid,’ so I dare say 
I’m not as big as I think I am. Anyway, I love to 
see parades and soldiers and guns and things — and 
I love to watch trains come in.” 

It was needless for him to say more. They were 
all laughing, even Mr. Barney. And that was a gala 
meeting. Harry had no end of “ stunts ” which he 
put them through, doing them himself to their 


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155 


great admiration. He made them see if they could 
stand on one foot, lower the body nearly to the floor, 
and rise again without ever touc-hing the other foot 
to the floor; if they could stand for six minutes 
without moving; if they could hold their left hands 
in the air ten minutes; and a dozen other things 
which seem easy until you try them. He measured 
his lithe, agile form on the floor, gave a twirl, and 
was up in two seconds without bending his knees. 

You have to do it in two seconds,” he panted, 
brushing back the rebellious lock of hair from his 
forehead. He showed them how wrestling was not 
so much a matter of strength as a matter of art, 
which Mr. Barney, assured by his burly frame, 
denied until Harry put him down by a dexterous 
twist of the shovelman’s wrist, followed by a gentle, 
but skillful, working under the chin. It was irresis- 
tible. 

Altogether, it was a delightful meeting. Harry 
left the hall with his pockets jingling with dimes and 
nickels; 'Merican money,” he laughed to himself, 
and hurried to catch the last train for Culebra. 

Yet one shadow overhung his memory of this 
pleasant evening — the thought of the young soldier. 
Jack Holden. Harry felt sorry for him, too. He 
was so fond of work himself, so naturally faithful 
and withal so fascinated by military life, that he 
could not conceive how the service could become 
irksome. And, though he had quite as strong and 


BOY SCOUTS 


156 

manly a temperament as Mr. Barney himself, still 
the little vein of sympathy and gentleness running 
in him enabled him to imagine himself in Holden’s 
place with Holden’s weakness. And he did not like 
to think of Uncle Sam, his boss, in the role of de- 
tective. He could not get the young soldier’s blue, 
nervous eyes and hesitating smile out of his mind. 

But a darker shadow still was to obscure this 
pleasant evening before he reached home. As he 
stood waiting for the Panama train and looking 
down the embankment into the vast Cut (now still 
and wrapped in darkness), he fancied that he saw 
something white moving up the slope toward the 
station. Instinctively, the thought of old 82 ” 
down there at the foot of the Cut came to him and 
he was seized with an impulse to go down and look 
at her. But several of the scouts who were going 
over to Panama and Ancon were with him, and not 
wishing to leave them standing there, he refrained. 
Then he reflected how silly it would have been to go 
down, and attributed the impulse to his anxiety that 
all should go well these last two days of the month. 
Suddenly he saw that the ascending spot of white 
was a duck hat. 

Two men came up over the embankment, stamped 
the dirt from their feet, and stood in the darkness 
away from the station, waiting for the train. When 
Harry and his young friends were seated, he noticed 
these two men sitting ahead of him in the almost 


AT PANAMA 


157 


empty car. One was rather nattily attired in duck 
trousers, a blue coat, and duck sun-hat. He was 
thickly freckled, had a red mustache and red hair, 
but looked intelligent and alert. The other was in 
working clothes, and Harry's heart stood still as he 
recognized him. 

It was Kerrigan. 

He reached Quarters, and was going upstairs 
when Van Varick, who was in the Disbursement 
Office, called through his open door, Hello, Kid ; 
you getting ready to beat that record ? " 

“ Yes,” he answered dejectedly. 

When he reached his room he was again accosted. 

Hello, Kid — 'eat the record ? '' 

So you've found my name, too, have you. Cap ? 
Do you think that’s the way to talk to your boss ? '' 

He opened the wicker basket; Vasco ' Nunez 
stepped out on the towel-rack and immediately 
fluffed up his head feathers, holding his head low for 
Harry to stroke it. Harry cut a piece from a ba- 
nana and the bird took it in one claw, and holding it 
thus proceeded to eat it. 

This has been a long day for you. Cap ; it’s 
nearly twelve o’clock. You been lonely? ” 

Vaya vd sacarlos de los Estados/' screamed the 
parrot. 

'' Now, I can't understand that. Cap. I wish I 
had your education. Talk English, please.” 

The parrot stepped cautiously on to Harry's fin- 


BOY SCOUTS 


158 

ger, and the boy sank down in his armchair, holding 
the bird near his face and smiling. The parrot 
cocked his head and looked at him sideways out of 
one eye. 

“ Poor Kid,’^ said he. 

Think I’ve got troubles, Cap ? ” 

‘‘ Pretty Kid.” 

“ Well,” said Harry, letting the bird push its head 
up under his chin, and stroking it all the while, “ I 
think you’re just as much of a kid as I am; though, 
goodness knows, I suppose you’re old enough to call 
me kid. How old are you anyway. Cap ? ” 

“ Poor balanas — under the — ” 

“ Now, don’t begin that. Cap ; I’ve got worries 
enough to-night. Let’s forget our troubles and 
cheer up.’' 


CHAPTER IX 


HARRY RECEIVES FOUR CALLERS 

As long as Harry worked on the Panama Canal 
and for months afterward, the events of that next 
morning stood out prominently in his memory. He 
often, in his mind’s eye, saw again the picture which 
confronted him when he went down the embank- 
ment, cheerful, confident, and ready for those two 
last strenuous days on old ‘‘ 82.” He had risen early 
with the thought of this final struggle dominating 
his mind ; his apprehensions of the night before had 
died away with the bright dawn of another morning, 
for the first grateful promise of the dry season was 
now apparent in the sunshine of the early day. 

It brought with it to Harry the resolution that the 
month’s record, which had simmered down to a con- 
test between these two monsters, must be won. So 
hopeful did he feel that instead of going down to 

Empire on one of the dirt-trains in the Cut, he 

worked off his nervous energy by taking the new 

road from Culebra to Empire station. He was 

thinking, as he walked along, how often he had 
worried without cause; how, after a school exami- 
nation, he had always lost a night’s sleep fearing that 
159 


i6o 


BOY SCOUTS 


he hadn’t passed when all the while he really knew 
that he had. And so it was now. How absurd had 
been the cloud of suspicion which he had foolishly 
allowed to spoil that pleasant evening; how pre- 
posterous the thought that anything could happen to 
disrupt the happiness and good fellowship of '' 82’s ” 
little family. “ I suppose,” he chuckled, “ that Mike 
will be ‘ yo-hoing ’ all day long to keep us hustling.” 

Then he saw Mike. 

Something was wrong. Mr. Barney, in a tower- 
ing rage, was speaking to the Irishman. The two 
East Indians stood, like majestic statues, calm and 
dignified, as if the affair were none of their busi- 
ness. 

“ Then I want to know,” roared Mr. Barney, 
** how it got there in the cab — if you can answer me 
like a man ! ” 

Harry dared not ask what was wrong, for the 
shovelman was too enraged to notice him, and he 
stood by trembling inwardly, for it looked as if 
blows were imminent. In Mr. Barney’s hand was 
a charred corncob pipe. 

'‘Well?” he urged. 

“ Oi’ll not talk wid ye,” Mike roared back. 
" Oi’m an honest man! ” 

There were a ring and a dignity to his illiterate 
speech that Harry liked. The Irishman, as well as 
his master, was trembling with rage. Mr. Barney 
surveyed him from head to foot with a look of un- 


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i6i 


utterable disgust. Sickened, Harry cast a nervous 
glance across the Cut where loi ” stood in her 
cloud of smoke, working up steam. 

“You don’t know?” mocked Barney, his rage 
rising. “ You — ” 

The Irishman made a start forward. Harry 
clutched at his arm, and said quietly, “ Don’t, Mike.” 

With a mingling of rage and contempt which 
made Kerrigan seem like the dirt under his feet, 
Barney threw the pipe to the ground, where it broke 
against a rock, and wheeled upon Harry. 

“ Do you know where the silver quarters in Em- 
pire are? ” 

“ I can find them, Mr. Barney.” 

“ Go and find out if this man was out last night 
and what time he got back.” 

Harry looked at Kerrigan imploringly. “ Mike,” 
said he, “ tell him — don’t keep anything back ; tell 
him if you were down here last night.” 

“ Can you do as you’re told, Arnold ? ” shouted 
Mr. Barney. 

Harry turned away, but the Irishman’s big hand 
detained him. His arm rested over the boy’s shoul- 
der, and Harry stood still and let it remain so. 

“ Stop a bit, me by ; ye needn’t go fur to find out. 
Oi wuz here last night. Oi’ve been here monny a 
night, an’ he knows it, an’ he knows why. Oi’ll not 
talk wid him.” 

“You were here? You admit it?” roared Bar- 


BOY SCOUTS 


162 

ney. “ Get out of my sight, you scoundrel ! Get 
your things and get out of here! ” 

There was a dreadful moment when it seemed as 
if words were not enough. Harry clutched the 
Irishman’s arm as it left his shoulder. 

'' Don’t, please, Mike,” he said. It won’t do any 
good.” 

Barney waited as if to invite the blow. Then, 
suddenly, his rage seemed to freeze. His tone was 
low, crisp, icy. 

“ Kerrigan,” said he, you say you came down 
here last night. Was anybody with you? Don’t 
lie — because I can find out.” 

A betther man nor yourself was wid me, — me 
frind, McConnell.” 

“ I see. You get together all your belongings and 
get out of here. Don’t ever let me see your face 
again.” 

For a moment the big Irishman glared at him; 
then he began to collect his things. It was pathetic 
to Harry to see him pick up his shovel, his pick, a 
few odds and ends of working clothes. 

Good-by, me by,” he said, extending his hand. 
Harry grasped it, his eyes filling. Without another 
word Kerrigan wheeled about and went up the em- 
bankment, the boy watching his sturdy, plodding 
figure until it disappeared. 

Well, Arnold, you want to go with him, or 
would you prefer to stay and help us out to-day ? ” 


AT PANAMA 


163 

Truly, here was Mr. Barney at his very worst. 
Yet Harry could not help feeling sorry for him. He 
followed him up into the engine, and there before 
him was the cause of the scene he had just witnessed. 

Pretty good job, eh? said Barney, in ironical 
disgust. 

It was a good job, if thoroughness counts for any- 
thing. The cylinder-head had been removed, the 
greasy gasket torn in half and thrown on the floor. 
There had been no attempt to make it appear an acci- 
dental break. It seemed to Harry that if he had 
done such a thing for such a purpose, he would have 
removed the head, taken out the gasket, and replaced 
the head. Then the first sign of trouble would have 
been a leakage. Or, he might have scraped the 
gasket on one side to destroy the even pressure of 
the head and left it where it was. The damage 
would be effectual, would compass the object (loss 
of time), and would have been attributed to a worn- 
out gasket. 

r don’t believe McConnell or any other engineer 
had anything to do with this,” thought Harry. 

But he said nothing to Mr. Barney. He was sorry 
now for what he had said the night before, for he 
felt that he had been the cause of Mr. Barney’s sus- 
pecting Kerrigan. 

‘‘ Where did you find his pipe, Mr. Barney? ” he 
ventured to ask after a little while. 

Right there on the cylinder.” 


164 


BOY SCOUTS 


If he came down to see if everything was all 
right—” 

With McConnell ? ” Barney interrupted sar- 
castically. 

It does look strange, Mr. Barney, but mightn’t 
he have left his pipe there before this was done? ” 

And some one came along an hour or two later 
and removed the cylinder head without shaking the 
pipe off the cylinder ? ” 

Mightn’t they have put it back just to throw sus- 
picion on the owner of the pipe? ” 

“ They couldn’t have heard the pipe fall ; it would 
have gone right through that trap into the mud. 
Come, come, Arnold,” he added, with the first wel- 
come dawn of pleasantry. ‘‘ I thought you were a 
better scout than that. You talk as if you were try- 
ing Kerrigan’s case for him in court.” 

Has he been down here before at night to see if 
everything was all right, Mr. Barney?” 

Not that I know of — I never told him to. Come 
now, you let me be captain here like a good boy. 
Look out and see if the repair train’s coming.” 

Within a few minutes it arrived, and a man hur- 
ried over from it bringing the papery material for a 
new gasket. He laid it on the cylinder and pounded 
it gently around the edge until the outer rim fell 
away, leaving the circular gasket. He pressed this 
with his fingers over the bolt holes until the position 
and circumference of each one was faintly outlined. 


AT PANAMA 


165 

Then with a small hammer he pounded gently 
around these defining lines, so that the little circular 
pieces fell away, leaving the bolt holes open. Then 
he smeared the gasket with graphite and carefully 
set the cylinder head in place. It was interesting to 
watch him as he screwed down the bolts. When he 
had each one screwed down almost to its head, he 
compared them all carefully, then turned one a little, 
then the next a little, and so on all the way around, 
so that they tightened almost simultaneously, secur- 
ing a uniform pressure. Then, like an artist putting 
the finishing touch to a picture, he gave this bolt the 
last turn, then another one, and then another, until 
the resistance was exactly the same in all of them. 
Harry would have screwed one down as far as it 
would go, given it a final and unnecessary wrench, 
then gone on to the next one. 

You don’t see many of these fifteen-sixteenth 
bolt-heads any more,” the machinist observed, as he 
stuck his wrench in the pocket of his greasy apron. 

No, we’re old-fashioned here,” answered 
Barney. 

You see them in the octagons sometimes, but 
not the square ones.” 

'' You’d better send up some of that stuff,” said 
Barney ; then I won’t have to trouble you the next 
time we need a new gasket.” 

Mr. Barney walked a few paces with him and 
seemed to be telling him about what had happened. 


i66 


BOY SCOUTS 


Harry was always interested in acquiring odds and 
ends of information, and he was glad to know how 
he should go about it when next the little two-horse- 
power engine of his motor-boat at home needed a 
gasket; for it was always needing something. But 
he had noticed something else which he hoped might 
be of more immediate use. The repair man had put 
away his wrench without unsetting it. That was 
natural, Harry thought; hadn’t he always done the 
same? That belonged to the next job. 

It was not long before they got old 82 ” under 
way, but she had lost about two hours. Two new 
pitmen were on hand, in fulfillment of a long-stand- 
ing promise, and the work went along steadily and 
rapidly. But it was not a cheerful day, and there 
were none of the usual pleasantries at the end of it. 
They ‘‘ turned over thirty-eight hundred and ten 
cubics,” and Harry worked like a Trojan. But the 
absence of Mike’s vociferous “ Yo-ho ” was felt by 
all — unless, indeed, by Mr. Barney, who occasionally 
looked down to give some order to the craneman. 
He seemed to have forgotten all about the affair of 
the morning. As nearly as they could find out, they 
were close upon “ loi,” but there was no telling just 
how matters really stood. 

At night, Harry washed in the Empire Clubhouse 
and went over to Panama, where he bought a wire 
cage for Vasco Nunez and some odds and ends 
which the government stores’ practical stock list did 


AT PANAMA 


167 


not include, — one or two pictures for his room, and 
other things. He did not know just what sort of 
pictures would be best, so he bought one of George 
Washington and one of Lincoln, in neat little frames. 
He also bought an empty photograph frame, in- 
tending probably to write to Oakwood for a photo- 
graph to put in it. I don’t know just what his idea 
was. 

When he climbed the stairs of his quarters, he 
found two men waiting patiently on the steps of 
the next flight. 

‘‘ You boy just came — last mont’? ” one asked. 

Harry opened his door and in the light which 
flooded the hall, perceived Mr. Pedro Requelme, 
of the Balboa Bazaar, and with him the very person- 
age whom he had met on the steamer — he of the 
Croton-alley eyes, Mr. Alonzo Zamora. 

Ah, yes,” said Requelme, following him in; 
'‘you same boy. You like Canal, yes?” 

" Yes,” said Harry, with the characteristic air of 
half-interest which he often fell into. “ Did you 
want to see me ? Won’t you sit down ? ” 

" How ees parrot ? ” asked Requelme. 

" Oh, he’s pretty well, for an old fellow. I’ve got 
him a cage here.” 

" Cage, yes ? ” He looked disappointed. 

"You no want sell him? Had plenty fun al- 
ready — yes? He much trouble? He no good 
talker, hey? No? I take heem back — I haf young 


BOY SCOUTS 


1 68 

parrot — he talk all time — sing, whistle — he yellow- 
head — best kind. You change heem? 

He’d be just as much trouble as this one, 
wouldn’t he ? ” said Harry. 

‘‘ He talk much — Mexican bird — he talk all kind 
talk — talk much.” 

Well, they say silence is golden,” said Harry. 

‘‘Gold? Yes, what? What gold?” said Re- 
quelme, quickly. 

“ Oh, that’s only a saying,” said Harry. 

“ Loretta, my parrot, he say that ? ” 

“ Oh, no, he never mentioned the subject,” said 
Harry. 

The two men watched him keenly as he tore the 
paper from the cage and, taking Vasco Nunez from 
his wicker basket, placed him on the little threshold 
of his new home. He stepped in upon the perch, 
investigated both of the empty cups, ventured charily 
upon the swing, looked about the cage as if he con- 
templated buying it, returned to the perch, caught 
sight of Requelme and let forth a piercing shriek. 

“ That’s all right. Cap,” said Harry, in an under- 
tone. “ He can’t get in there. How do you like 
it?” 

But the parrot was too astonished at his sudden 
acquisition of such sumptuous quarters to talk. 

“Did you gentlemen want to see me?” asked 
Harry again, sinking wearily into a chair. 

Zamora, whose little brown eyes had been 


AT PANAMA 


169 

watching him intently, now took up the conver- 
sation, pulling a chair close to Harry and speaking 
in a most ingratiating manner. His face was so 
close that Harry felt an impulse to straighten the 
spectacles on his fat nose. Up to this point he had 
been quite at ease with his callers, but now he felt 
that he must be careful and he was a little nervous. 

He poor man, Fm sorry for him,’' said Zamora, 
nodding confidentially toward Requelme ; he hass 
a fix. Hees daughter, poor girl, she was so fond of 
parrot. He sell it without her knowing. She tear 
her hair, and cry, ‘ Poor Loretta gone.’ I say, 
‘ Senorita, my dear, this boy ees American. He 
haf’ — what is it — cheevalry. I will see him. I 
know the noble Americans. He will sell you back 
your parrot. I will get him back for you.’ That 
is it, my boy. Poor papa, he is nearly crazy — see? 
So I gif’ you for all your troubles, your cage, your 
expense and all — I gif’ you — twenty-fif’ dollar,” 
he blurted out. 

He had studied Harry to good purpose and 
touched him in his weakest spot ; not with his liberal 
offer, but with his picture of the crying, grief- 
stricken girl. 

“ I bought him,” said Harry, hesitatingly, ‘‘ be- 
cause this man, your friend, was banging his head 
with a lead pencil. I didn’t want him.” 

“ Of course not,” agreed Zamora. A boy, he 
wants no silly pets.” 


170 


BOY SCOUTS 


He’ll bang him on the head again, I’m afraid,” 
Harry ruminated aloud. 

He ? Ah, no. Do not worry. Poor girl, I 
would not dare to go back without her precious 
Loretta! I come from your grand country, you 
know! I haf’ not seen Senor Requelme for years. 
I say, ^ Senorita, we will find that fine boy,’ and, 
now I find you are very same boy I met upon the 
steamer. So you will be good boy, for poor 
Senorita. You work hard — you haf’ no time for 
parrot. You do good deed — always glad; ees it not 
so ? That ees noble boy ! ” he added, clapping Harry 
on the shoulder as he rose. 

The boy went over to the table where the new 
cage stood. Its occupant was standing on one leg, 
holding in the other the price tag of the cage, which 
he was trying to detach from its string. He paused 
and looked at Harry. 

Hello, Kid,” said he. 

'' You’re going back home. Cap,” said Harry, 
gently. 

“Hurrah for 82!” said Vasco Nunez. 

“ This has been a bad day all through. Cap,” 
said Harry, with a break in his voice. “ You just 
tuck your claw up there under your feathers and 
forget it, and I’ll go to bed and try to forget it, too. 
I’m dead tired. Cap; I was in hopes you might 
keep me company to-night. But don’t you worry 
any more about the bananas, will you? We 


AT PANAMA 


171 

were just beginning to get that trouble off our 
minds/’ 

He knew now why old John Silver, in Treasure 
Island,” had a parrot, and why Robinson Crusoe 
had one, and the man that kept the tollgate near 
Oakwood, and the lighthouse-keeper down at 
Barnegat, where he had visited, and scores of other 
lonely people, who turn to these strange birds as if 
by instinct. He talked on to the bird in a low tone 
as he put the paper up over the cage again, and as 
he did so Vasco Nunez came over and crowded 
against the bars and, putting one of his awkward 
claws out, groped about with it. 

Good-by, Cap,” Harry said, taking the claw 
in his hand. He was holding the paper in place 
with one hand and reaching for a piece of string 
with the other, when there came a knock at the 
door. 

“ Come in,” he said. 

The door opened softly and a face peered around 
the edge of it. 

“ H’lo, Harry boy,” said a comfortable, whim- 
sical voice. 

Harry let the paper fall from the cage and rushed 
forward. 

Hello, Mr. Conne,” he said delightedly. '' Pm 
awfully glad to see you.” 

Can I come in? ” 

‘‘ ril drag you in with a derrick if you don’t! ” 


172 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ I see you’ve got company,” said Mr. Conne, 
glancing at the two men in his funny way. “ How’d 
do, gentlemen. Harry, who’s your friend?” 

‘‘That? Oh, that’s Vasco Nunez de Balboa.” 

“ Howf ” 

“ Cap, for short.” 

“ Well, that’s some better. He’d fall right off 
the perch with a name like that first one. When 
you name a bird, you’ve got to look out for the 
center of gravity. I thought all parrots were named 
‘Polly.’ Hello, Polly. Well, Harry, how’s the 
ditch coming on ? ” 

“ Oh, pretty good ; but you’re the first good 
thing that’s happened to-day. It’s good for the 
blues to see you. Just wait till I get this cage 
wrapped up and I’ll be with you. These gentlemen 
are waiting.” 

“Working hard?” 

“ Oh, so-so ; this is the hardest thing I’ve done 
so far, though.” 

“Pretty hard thing to wrap up, hey?” 

“ It isn’t that ; ” and then, as he wound the string 
around the cage, he told briefly the cause of the 
strangers’ visit, and the little history of Vasco 
Nunez de Balboa. 

Mr. Conne’s face was a study. He looked at 
Harry, then at Zamora, then at Requelme, then 
back at Harry, whom he watched closely. What- 
ever else he suspected, it was plain that he saw 


AT PANAMA 


173 


how badly Harry was feeling over the matter. 
Yet the funny, whimsical look lingered on his face 
through all, as if it amused him that a parrot could 
cause such a stir in the world. 

“ How much is this bird worth ? ’’ he finally asked 
of Requelme. 

''Ugh! Two dollar — tree dollar.” 

" How much do you expect to get for him ? ” 

" Sell heem ? No ! My daughter, she — ” 

" I see ; ” he cut him off and turned to Zamora. 
" You see the boy doesn’t like to part with him,” 
he said reflectively. 

" He ees a noble boy, sir.” 

" Yes,” Mr. Conne drawled; " he’s a pretty good 
boy, but kind of credulous and trusting. How. old is 
this weeping maiden ? ” 

Zamora was plainly angry and disconcerted. 
Requelme started to speak, but Mr. Conne shut him 
off. " Just let me talk with this gentleman,” he 
said, " and don’t interrupt me, please. If you have 
anything to say, you can say it afterward.” 

" You — you — are relateev to thees young man ? ” 
said Zamora, straightening up in dignity. 

"Yes, I’m his great-grandson; how old is this 
girl?” 

"Do you mean to gif’ me eensult?” demanded 
Zamora. 

" No, I’m just trying to find out how old the 
young lady is.” 


174 


BOY SCOUTS 


She ees a mere child, sir — fifteen.’' 

‘‘M-m-m; how long has she had the parrot?” 

“ She haas grown up with eet; eet had not yet 
feathered — ” 

Harry stood listening, the paper fallen away from 
the cage. 

“I see — sort of old school friend, eh? How 
old is the parrot ? ” he added, turning suddenly 
upon Requelme. 

‘‘ Four— five— ” 

“ Oh, come, he’s older than that ; see, his claws 
are black. They’d be white if he was only four or 
five.” 

“ Maybe, seven — eight.” 

'' I see,” said Mr. Conne, comfortably ; “ you 
wouldn’t be willing to make it fifty, now? Then, 
you could have the girl about forty-eight or so.” 

'‘Senor!” said Zamora, in a dangerously of- 
fended tone. 

Now, I tell you what you do,” said Mr. Conne, 
pleasantly, ignoring his theatrical bluster and dig- 
nity. ‘‘ We’ll let the boy down easy. You let him 
keep the parrot to-night, and then to-morrow you 
send the young lady over to get him herself.” 

'' You theenking I am a liar ? ” roared Zamora. 

“ Yes, I think you are,” said Mr. Conne, in his 
crisp, businesslike tone. It was as good as a circus 
to see them looking at each other, Mr. Conne calm 
and whimsical, as if he expected Zamora to appre- 


AT PANAMA 


175 

date the joke of being seen through, and Zamora 
bursting with wrath. 

“ Come,’’ he said to Requelme, we will see about 
thees;” and the proprietor of the Balboa Bazaar 
dutifully followed his spokesman from the room 
and down the stairs with a great deal of noise. 

“ Nice sort of party to have around the house 
on a rainy Sunday,” commented Mr. Conne ; ‘‘ same 
old fellow we had on the steamer, isn’t he? ” 

Yes, Sehor,” said Harry, amused and relieved. 
What’s the matter, Harry? ” 

“ Nothing’s the matter.” 

Pretty close call, wasn’t it ? ” 

Thanks to you.” 

“Well, you’ve got him anyway, haven’t you?” 
he said, placing his arm over the boy’s shoulder. 
“ Harry, you’re a funny boy. What’d you ever 
want to buy him for? ” 

“ I didn’t want to, but somehow — ” 

“ I know ; funny, isn’t it ? ’Bout a year ago the 
boys and I went down to one of those life-saving 
stations on Cape Cod to film up a little rescue busi- 
ness. The men did the launching stunt for us in a 
pelting snow. It was great. Then they had us 
into their little house; we carried Andy Breen in 
dying— ” 

“ What? ” 

“We always have Andy to do the dying — he 
dies great. Well, then we all had some hot coffee. 


BOY SCOUTS 


176 

I noticed a parrot in the corner and I said, ‘ WKat 
in the world do you want that thing for? ’ ‘ For 

company,’ says they.” 

That’s it,” said Harry. 

Funny, isn’t it? ” mused Mr. Conne; must be 
something about them. Does he talk, Harry?” 

He says some things in Spanish that I can’t 
understand. Then he has a little English soliloquy 
that he does, about bananas, or ‘ balanas ’ as he 
calls them, and something about under the ^ balana 
tree.’ I think he’s had some sorrow or misfortune,” 
he added, laughing. 

Been in the banana business and lost money, 
hey? Well, Harry, let’s hear about the cubic yards 
and dobie blasts; now, tell me, how many barrels 
of cement — ” 

‘Hf you’ll be serious a minute and stop guying 
me, I’ll tell you all my troubles.” 

That’s right. Just shovel them right on to me. 
I’ll be the dirt-train.” 

It was a pleasant evening, what there was left of 
it. Mr. Conne, with a twinkle in his eye, produced 
a snapshot of the boy hero,” as he expressed it, 
a photograph which George Warren’s dexterity had 
enabled him to get of Harry in the midst of his 
memorable and much-regretted rescue act. Mr. 
Conne, who seemed to retain amusing recollections 
of Gordon, suggested that Harry send him this 
picture without comment. Just write on the back 


AT PANAMA 


177 


that some one happened to get a snapshot of you 
when you were doing a noble deed/’ he said. Harry 
later forwarded it to Oakwood, where it was re- 
ceived by Gordon with great consternation. 

One thing Harry promised to do when his leave 
time came the following autumn, and that was to 
accompany Mr. Conne and “ the boys ” on their 
expedition into the Darien, which is the name given 
to the extreme end of the Isthmus, where it joins 
South- America. He had always thought of going 
home, as so many did, when his six weeks’ holiday 
came, but his parents were in Europe and there was 
no one in the big old house to welcome him except 
the housekeeper; so he gave a willing ear to Mr. 
Conne’s alluring picture of a camping trip through 
the country of the wild San Bias Indians, and a 
canoe voyage across from the Gulf of Darien to 
the Pacific. 

Mr. Conne, as Harry learned that evening, was 
the only man of his kind in the United States. His 
business was unique. And it was a business to win 
a boy’s heart. If Gordon had only known the plain 
truth about this deep-dyed villain,” how he would 
have worshiped him! For he was just in Gordon’s 
line ; his business was to find ways.” All over the 
world he was known as a unique specialist whose 
services were sought for the most adventurous and 
hazardous enterprises. He did not bother with 
small things. He would not take the trouble to 


178 


BOY SCOUTS 


film up a parade or a burning house, or any 
other everyday city scene or catastrophe. Not he. 
He left that to the regular practitioners — the 
camera men, he called them. But if you wanted 
a shipwreck in mid-ocean, he would arrange it. If 
you wanted some reels of the Eskimos on the Coast 
of Labrador, or the Bushmen of South Africa, he 
would go and get them. He had a faculty of getting 
into real railroad accidents, of mixing himself up 
with dynamite blasts, and coming out of these 
things with a whole skin. He said he was guar- 
anteed indestructible,’' and he certainly seemed to 
have nine lives, like a cat. 

He was a good judge of men and boys; he had 
Gordon and Harry both sized up to a T, and he had 
picked George Warren and Andy Breen because 
they were game.” There was not fear enough 
in the whole trio to supply the requisite amount of 
timidity for an ordinary rabbit. Mr. Conne had a 
little office in Chicago, but he was seldom there. 
There was a young lady in charge, who would tell 
you that he was in Australia, or Greenland, or the 
Desert of Sahara, as the case might be. When he 
was at home there was usually a line of picture men 
to see him, and menagerie men as well, for he dealt 
in animals as a side line and would arrange to 
bring you home a gorilla, or a boa constrictor, or a 
tiger, but he did not take very much interest in this. 

Newspaper correspondents were always glad of 


AT PANAMA 


179 


a chance to go with him, but he did not bother much 
with them. And magazines and publishers were 
likewise after him for accounts of his adventures. 
But he never wrote — he had no time. He was a 
man of actions, not of words. He had not the 
slightest idea how fascinating his business seemed 
to others, nor how interesting he was himself. On 
the door of his tiny office in the big Chicago sky- 
scraper was simply the name, 

Carleton Conne 

No business was given. The public did not know 
him. They passed to and fro along the hall every 
day and probably thought, if they thought about it 
at all, that he was a lawyer, or an insurance broker, 
or something equally dull and prosaic. But the 
name of Carleton Conne was known to motion- 
picture men, to circus men, to natural history muse- 
ums and associations, the world over. If Harry 
Arnold had had the slightest idea how the cable and 
the long-distance telephone were always trying to 
reach this elusive creature, how scores of men were 
always trying, failing and trying again, to get in 
touch with him, he might have appreciated even 
more than he did, the value and the flattery of the 
friendship which had been voluntarily offered him. 
I suppose Mr. Conne had sized up Harry as quickly 


i8o 


BOY SCOUTS 


as he had sized up Zamora and Requelme (to 
Harry’s amazement). So now the boy found him- 
self promising to accompany this expedition if 
things came about so as to make it possible. 

Well, good-by, Harry, everything will come 
right, don’t you worry. I guess this — er — Mr. 
Barney’s pretty shrewd.” 

“ He’s mistaken — I know he is, Mr. Conne.” 

Well, he was shrewd enough to pick out Harry 
boy, wasn’t he ? ” 

Harry made no answer to that. 

‘‘ What do you do with our friend here when 
the inspector drops in ? Won’t be much more talk- 
ing Spanish then, eh ? He’ll make him walk 
Spanish.” 

With this parting shot, he took his departure. 
The next day he and the boys were going to investi- 
gate the old Spanish Trail, — a paved way half hid- 
den in the jungle for three hundred years past. 
Harry envied them. 

His rueful musing on Mr. Conne’s last words and 
the doleful picture which they suggested of Vasco 
Nunez being compelled to ‘‘ walk Spanish ” from 
his comfortable new home, were changed to appre- 
hension at the sound of a heavy footfall on the 
stairs, just as he was preparing to retire. He knew 
the inspectors were birds of the night; that they 
>vere apt to drop in ” wherever they saw a light 


AT PANAMA 


i8i’ 

burning, and that one stray mosquito would keep a 
dozen of them busy for a night, searching. Then 
there came a knock. 

Come in,” he said wearily. 

The door opened. It was only Mike. 


CHAPTER X 


VASCO NUNEZ DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF 

** Yur tired? Coin’ ter bed, me by? I seen the 
light-” 

No, indeed, Mike; you’re just the man I wanted 
to see. Just wait till I take my quinine. Do you 
find the climate down here makes you lazy, some- 
times? I do. I must take my bottle over to mess 
and get it filled up. I wonder how much quinine 
Uncle Sam distributes down here. Well, Mike, sit 
down and make yourself comfortable. This makes 
three nationalities I’ve had to-night — Spanish, : 

American, and Irish.” 

** Oi see ye’ve a perrit.” 

‘‘ Yes, he’s my side-partner.” 

Oi onct hed a perrit — only ’twas no perrit, ; 
’twas a cockatoo; thim green perrits is betther.” < 
‘‘ You’d prefer the color naturally,” laughed 
Harry. * 

‘‘Yur a blarney! He’ll be after dyin’ whin ye , 
take him t’ the States. The cloimate’ll kill ’im.” | 

“ I guess not; he’s pretty old, I think.” <, 

“ He’ll die,” said Mike, unconvinced, “ if he lives ^ 
long enough.” 


182 


BOY SCOUTS 183 

“Mike, we missed you awfully to-day; it’s good 
to see you.” 

“ Thin ye’re not discharged ? ” 

“Discharged! No, indeed; what for?” 

“ Fer standin’ me frind.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Barney’s not as bad as all that, Mike.” 

“ Oi’ll not hear his name I ” cried Mike, indig- 
nantly; “but Oi jist wanted ter tell ye thot — Ye 
don’t nade any money, now ? ” he blurted out. 
“ Well, if he should turn ye out an’ ye should nade 
a bit o’ help, Oi hev four hunderd dollars.” 

“ Mike, you’re a good friend, and I thank you, 
but you’re not going to do anything for me; I’m 
going to do something for you — if I can. And 
don’t be afraid of my being discharged and needing 
money. Mr. Barney couldn’t discharge me without 
reason. Or if he did, I should still be on the pay- 
roll. You see. I’m here on Civil Service. I don’t 
belong on his staff, anyway — though I like it,” he 
added, “ and I like himf* 

Mike shut his lips tight in silent disagreement. 

“ Now, Mike, don’t look that way, but listen to 
me. I believe in you. I know you didn’t do that 
thing; and inside of a week you and Mr. Barney 
are going to shake hands.” 

“ Niver!” 

“ Oh, yes, you are. We’ve got to find out who it 
was, that’s all.” 

“ Ye’ll niver find out, and thot’s the truth.” 


184 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Mike, let me tell you something. There was 
never a crime committed that didn’t leave its traces ; 
and there was never a lie told that couldn’t be 
nailed — see? You see, Mike, a lie doesn’t fit any- 
thing but another lie made for the purpose; but a 
fact fits every other fact. And a crime doesn’t fit 
in with things, naturally; it’s out of place; it doesn’t 
match. And if you study it close enough, you’ll 
find some little telltale thing about that leads some- 
where; only you have to use your brains.” 

Mike listened with respectful attention. “ Oi 
think ye must a’ went to the night school,” said he, 
impressed by this manner of reasoning. 

Mike, who was the fellow that Mr. Barney dis- 
charged, the one that had a motor-cycle? ” 

He would niver — ” 

I didn’t say he did, but what’s his name? ” 

It did not take Harry long to get the few facts 
he wanted, though Mike protested and was skepti- 
cal. He learned that the fellow’s name was Steers, 
and Mike thought he lived in Panama. At least, he 
had met him there one day. He suspected the fel- 
low was out of work, for he looked shabby and 
wanted to sell his motor-cycle. That was all Mike 
knew, but it was enough to send Harry to bed 
hopeful. 

For Harry had not visited Panama City with his 
eyes shut. He knew that the big staff of canal work- 
ers had its sediment which was always sinking to 


AT PANAMA 


i8S 

the bottom; fellows who found the work too hard, 
the routine and comparative restraint too confining; 
who, through laziness or incapacity or dishonesty, 
drifted away from Uncle Sam, and instead of going 
home, cast their lots with the indolent element of the 
republic's capital. Here, in truth, was a haven for 
the weak, the incompetent, those who lacked char- 
acter and stamina. They herded in a single quarter 
of the Isthmian city and led a precarious existence, 
victims of the lazy climate whose effects they had 
not the will and energy to combat. They could be 
seen lolling about Independence Plaza, along the 
shanty-covered sea-wall, at the bull-fights and the 
lottery. They were the dregs of Uncle Sam's splen- 
did force, a pitiable spectacle. Harry suspected that 
it was among these he should search. 

The next morning, when he reached 82," he 
looked for the pieces of the torn cylinder gasket. 
One piece had been crunched up and thrown away; 
he saw it lying in the Cut. The other had fallen 
through and lay beneath the shovel. He had 
brought a copy of the Canal Record in his pocket, 
and he now laid his precious find carefully between 
its sheets and placed the paper in his locker. It 
would be a long, hard day, the last one of the month, 
and he thought as he laid the paper carefully on the 
shelf of his little closet how the next issue would 
contain the coveted announcement of the month's 
record for excavation. 


BOY SCOUTS 


1 86 

He worked that day as he had never worked be- 
fore. The work was complicated and delayed by 
a ‘‘ baby slide,” as Mr. Barney called it, which kept 
pouring a small but continuous stream of earth and 
rock on the track ahead, requiring constant clearing 
all through the forenoon. Later they got be- 
yond its path, and then there was making up for 
lost time. Old “ 82 ” cut her way along, puffing and 
shaking and loading car after car, train after train. 

In the morning Harry had chalked some rocks 
for dobie blasts and notified the “ advance guard ” 
to come back and break them up at noon. A bat- 
tery of four compressed air-drills (the “ advance 
guard ”) preceded “ 82 ” at a sufficient distance for 
the larger rocks to be blasted before she reached 
them in order that she might grapple the fragments 
in her relentless jaws. Her appetite for rocks had 
been amply provided for for this day and the next, 
but some of these fragments proved too large for 
even her capacious maw and would have to be 
broken up by dobie blasts. 

Every morning Harry went ahead with a piece of 
chalk, inspecting the blasts of the night before and 
marking the fragments which he thought should be 
further broken. Then, at noon blast, the dyna- 
mite men would lay a small quantity of powder on 
the surface of the marked rock, cover it with clay, 
and discharge it by fuse. This was the dobie blast. 
In making his inspections Harry had to notice not 


AT PANAMA 


187 


only the size of the rock, but more particularly its 
shape, as the craneman could often handle a large 
piece more easily than a small one if it were of suit- 
able form. As the blasting men were not supposed 
to do any work which could be done by a shovel, you 
will see that some responsibility fell upon Harry 
and he viewed each rock carefully from every angle. 
Now and then 82 ” could not obey his chalk marks, 
but as a rule, what with shouting and puffing and 
coaxing, she managed it somehow. 

This noontime, however, the dynamite men had 
not been able to break up all the marked fragments 
when the whistle blew, and “ 82 ’’ showed her teeth 
that afternoon, grappling this way and that like a 
wrestler, tugging, wrenching, and finally swinging 
almost every mammoth piece, till she seemed an in- 
vincible monster. 

Naughty, naughty, to take such big mouth- 
fuls ! called one of Harry’s young surveyor friends 
who was passing with his transit over his shoulder. 

Spilled it right on her bib, too,” he added, as the 
rock tumbled off on to the edge of the dirt car, shat- 
tering its sides. Mr. Barney, naked from the waist, 
grimy, and dripping with perspiration, looked out 
to see who offered the pleasantry, waved his hand 
to the young fellow, mopped his forehead, and dis- 
appeared again. To Harry he seemed like a bronze 
statue of splendid manhood, the very soul, the spirit, 
the will of old “ 82.” 


BOY SCOUTS 


1 88 

If only Mike were there! 

They turned out four thousand, six hundred 
cubics that day. “ WeVe done our best anyway, 
boys,’’ said Mr. Barney ; “ we’ll see what comes of 
it.” 

Harry had certainly done his best; all through 
that long, hot, toiling day he had thought of the 
record and of the medal which he hoped to win. 
Yes, if he said it himself, his weariness, his utter 
fatigue, his dog-tiredness would confirm it; he had 
done his best. His service had been faithful, un- 
interrupted, satisfactory. 

But he was not to have the blessing of a much- 
needed slumber. All through that day he had 
thought also of Mike, poor Mike, and wondered 
where he was. He washed in the Culebra Club, 
went to mess early, and by six o’clock was in his 
room sitting at the center-table with the electric 
bulb as low as its wire would permit. Before him 
was the torn piece of gasket from 82’s ” cylinder. 
As clear as the type on the newspaper beneath it 
was a single fingermark imprinted on its greasy sur- 
face. He had expected more. He carefully lifted 
it and turned it over. There was another finger- 
mark, smaller, but in the same position near the 
edge. Then, suddenly and delightedly, he realized 
that the very smallness of this clue constituted its 
value. A number of marks might have been con- 
fusing. But these two, a large and a small, on op- 


AT PANAMA 


189 

posite sides and opposite each other, proved — what? 
That they were made by the person who tore the 
gasket in half ! The other thumb and finger were 
doubtless imprinted on the crumpled half that lay in 
Culebra Cut. He took a piece of paper and held it 
as one naturally would when about to tear it. Sure 
enough ! 

Inside of ten minutes his precious scrap of 
gasket was wrapped up and pushed under the bu- 
reau where it might remain flat and unharmed, and 
he was putting on his white duck coat. 

So long. Cap, I’ll see you later,” he said to 
Vasco Nunez, who was craning his neck with an 
oddly inquiring air and watching this hurried and 
unusual proceeding. Take a nap; then you’ll feel 
more sociable when I get back and we’ll have a little 
chat.” 

He caught the next train to Panama. He had 
never been along the Pacific Division in daylight 
before, though it was hardly that now. The Cut 
looked pretty much the same all along, though not 
as deep as at Culebra where the great Gold Hill was, 
until they came to the end of it at Peter McGill,^ 
where a crowd of weary, grimy toilers got on. Here 
was the great concrete canon which would form the 
Pedro Miguel locks, two side by side; then the train 
crossed a marshy space which would later be Mira- 

1 Pedro Miguel, but universally dubbed " Peter McGill ” by the canal 
■workers. 


190 


BOY SCOUTS 


flores Lake, a sort of widening of the Cut at its 
end; then stopped at Miraflores, where one of the 
great dumps was located, and where the other flight 
of Pacific locks (a double pair) would raise and 
lower vessels to and from ocean level. They looked 
much like the locks at Gatun, although they were 
not as near completion. There, you will remember, 
the three pairs adjoined, while here a single pair 
was at Pedro Miguel and two pairs a little farther 
on at Miraflores. From Miraflores a straight 
waterway ran to Balboa, a mile or two from Panama 
City, where the canal entered the Pacific. 

It was about dark when Harry alighted at Pan- 
ama and made his way to the Young Men’s Chris- 
tian Association Clubhouse. He had to cross the 
Plaza, where the Cathedral stood, and here on a 
corner building he saw a large sign, LOTERIA 
DE PANAMA. There was a surging crowd about 
it, negroes, Spaniards, some Chinese, and a few 
ne’er-do-well-looking Americans. On a park bench 
near by sat several people, apparently waiting for 
something; one, a young fellow in a decent suit 
whose head \^_2iS buried in his hands. Some of the 
waiting people clutched strips of paper printed in 
separate, detachable coupons like rows of ferry 
tickets, and talked excitedly with each other. It 
was a pathetic sight, for all these people were hoping 
to get money without earning it, on the mere pos- 
session of a lucky number. Some of them had a 


AT PANAMA 


191 

string of fifty or more coupons. All seemed ner- 
vous and in suspense, — especially the women, some 
of whom held babies in their arms. 

Harry knew that the lottery was a lawful institu- 
tion of the Panama Republic, but it held no temp- 
tation for him. If he had come by any money in 
such a way, he would have felt that he had stolen it, 
that those poor, ignorant Spanish women with 
babies in their arms had furnished it. He looked 
curiously at this sordid spectacle as he elbowed his 
way through. There were sneers and lowering 
glances from some who moved to let him pass, and 
one man said, '' Ugh, he no right down here, plenty 
room home ; ’’ which seemed strangely inhospitable, 
whether it referred to his presence in the crowd or 
on the Isthmus, for Harry knew that there would 
have been no Republic of Panama if it hadn’t been 
for Uncle Sam; that Uncle Sam had been the good 
angel of this little nation’s being. As a province of 
Colombia she had rebelled and Uncle Sam had guar- 
anteed her independence. This was a pretty good 
turn, to use the scout phrase, and deserving of a 
better courtesy than Americans often encountered 
at the hands of the new republic or of her people 
generally. 

As every boy should know, the new Panama Re- 
public sold to Uncle Sam what is known as the 
Canal Zone, a strip of land ten miles wide across the 
Isthmus, and this strip is controlled absolutely by 


192 


BOY SCOUTS 


our good old uncle. The cities of Colon and Pan- 
ama are in the Zone, but still a part of the Panama 
Republic. Uncle Sam, however, procured the privi- 
lege of paving their streets and cleaning them, and 
he straightway proceeded to give the capital city 
such a general shaking up as it had not known since 
the English buccaneer. Sir Henry Morgan, de- 
scended upon it in the year 1671. But the citizens 
had grown fond of their little pools of stagnant 
water, their cherished refuse heaps, and pet mos- 
quitoes; and when, to their consternation, they be- 
held their treasured mud being ousted in favor of 
paving-stones they felt that the day of their glory 
was over and that Panama, for the first time in all 
its long history, was going to have an American 
bath and be kept clean. 

Down one of these renovated streets Harry hur- 
ried, proud of his country which knew how to throt- 
tle cholera and yellow fever as it had known how to 
throttle the hills and the jungle. 

At the Young Men’s Christian Association Club- 
house he asked for trace of a fellow named Steers 
who used to. work in the Cut. The man looked 
over his lists but could find no such name, although 
they did their best to keep track of former workers 
who had not gone home. There was nothing to do 
but to go into the American quarter, not the one 
up on the hill at Ancon, where many of the canal 
men lived, but in the squalid quarter where failure. 


AT PANAMA 


193 


idleness, and dirt fraternized. For Harry had sized 
up his quarry; he knew that a bungling act for 
childish revenge would come from just such crea- 
tures as peopled the neighborhood he was seeking. 

He passed through narrow streets, scarcely more 
than alleys, but clean and orderly. Above the nar- 
row, paved walks balconies projected, some of them 
almost meeting from opposite sides, and from those 
just above him he could hear Spanish women sing- 
ing and gossiping. All sorts of Spanish signs con- 
fronted him, and now and then a merchant lolling 
in his doorway tried to lure him in to trade. The 
interiors of the lower floors, which were visible 
to the passer-by, revealed a picture of indolence 
strangely in contrast with the life of the canal force, 
even in its leisure hours. People sat about on the 
floor smoking cigarettes and playing cards, seeming 
but half awake. On every hand were colors which 
had once been gorgeous, but were now faded and 
dirty. It would have been a pleasure to see another 
white duck suit. 

He passed through the Calle Bolivar and pres- 
ently found himself in the little colony he sought. 
He knew it by the signs in English. The homely 
American words, '' Board and Lodging,” stared him 
in the face. From one of these poor places to an- 
other he went, canvassing for the person he wanted. 
He was met by slatternly women who sent him from 
house to house with encouraging hints and half-in- 


194 


BOY SCOUTS 


formation that proved fruitless. One thought 
there was a Steers across the way, but it turned out 
to be a Sears. Another had known a Seering that 
used to be in the Disbursement Office at Empire. 
Another was sure she knew whom he meant — the 
young man over at Sehor Piza’s. At Sehor Piza’s 
they told him the young man had died of malaria 
and that his name was Daggett. And so it went. 

But Harry was not one to despair. He finally de- 
cided that the name of Steers was not the magic 
word to work with. It led him to Joneses, Mc- 
Carthys, Stewards. So he concluded to conjure with 
the word motor-cycle and to use no name. A filthy 
little mulatto urchin knew the fellow well. He lived 
at the President Roosevelt,” kept by Wingate’s 
widow. So Harry rooted out the widow and found 
that the motor-cycle was a phonograph, and the 
owner’s name was Connor. Foiled again! But 
Wingate’s widow ” had a word to say ; the 
“ Snorer ” across the street had a boarder who had 
a steam-shovel. He suspected that the “ Snorer ” 
might be a Senora, and that if a phonograph could 
be a motor-cycle, then why might not a motor-cycle 
be a steam-shovel ? At all events, since nobody cared 
anything for names, why, anything could be any- 
thing — as in Alice in Wonderland.” 

He decided not to waken the “ Snorer ” at such a 
late hour, but suddenly the brilliant thought came 
to him that perhaps the Snorer’s ” boarder had 


AT PANAMA 


195 


worked on a steam-shovel. That was it, surely! 
Happy thought! But the Sehora herself dispelled 
this vision. From her balcony she acknowledged 
having “ plenty ’Merica gentlemens,” but none with 
a bicycle, and a steam-shovel! ^^No-o-o-o!” she 
shook her head emphatically. Harry believed her. 
One more cast of the dice and he would go home, 
for it was getting late. He accosted a negro. 

‘‘ Do you ever see any one around here with a 
bicycle? ” he asked; “ sort of two wheels with some 
machinery between? ” 

‘‘ Huh, plenty,” the negro laughed, showing all 
his teeth. “ Him make plenty noise — yas? ” 

‘‘ That’s he,” said Harry, delighted. 

He walked a few steps with the negro, who volun- 
teered to point out the house. He was to turn one 
corner, then another, till he came to a store with 
monkeys and Panama hats in the window. He 
gave the laughing negro a dime and hurried on. 

** I bet it’s a baby-carriage or a wheelbarrow,” he 
speculated. 

But it was neither, and the negro’s description of 
a motor-cycle was complete and eloquent; Harry 
would have gone almost to the ends of the earth on 
the strength of it, — “ Him make plenty noise.” 
It must be either a motor-cycle or a steam-shovel, in 
very truth. 

It was not a pleasant house which he entered, but 
squalid, dark, and with that strange odor from cook- 


BOY SCOUTS 


196 

ing which pervades none but Spanish houses. Yes, 
there was a fellow there who had a motor-cycle, 
but his name was Varick, and he was not at home. 
His locked door at the end of the dark hall made 
this plain. But Harry resolved to wait. Such a 
fellow might have changed his name. He went out 
and sat on the doorstep, close to the walk. It was 
after ten o’clock, and he would wait until time for 
the next and last Atlantic train at eleven-two. 
Through the open windows opposite there floated out 
the strains of a mandolin intermingled with the rich, 
languid voices of singers. Harry was glad he could 
not see the inmates, for he did not like the looks 
of these people; but the music was delightful and 
might have lulled him to sleep. 

It seemed strange for him to be sitting on this 
curbstone late at night amid such strange scenes and 
unfamiliar people, so far from home. It might have 
been Spain in the old days. It seemed scarcely cred- 
ible that within a mile or two of these scenes of 
care-free languor and old-world ease and negli- 
gence, the sturdy, practical, indomitable spirit of 
Uncle Sam was hewing a way through the jungle. 
It was a great thing, thought Harry, to have some 
serious business in the world and to be about it. 
What a contrast between Mr. Barney and these peo- 
ple. Here they were idling on their couches, while 
Uncle Sam was cleaning up their city for them. 
First and last, Harry was mighty glad ” he was 


AT PANAMA 


197 


from the States.” His thoughts were just running 
to Oakwood, to Gordon and the troop and Dr. Brent 
and the Danforths, and he was wondering why 
Marjorie hadn’t written lately, when he became con- 
scious of a group approaching. They were all 
young men and none of them wore white, as he did. 
Some seemed to be Spanish, others American. One 
of these latter was saying that Henriquez was no 
good as a teaser, that Joe was better, and that if Joe 
had had that beast in hand he (the speaker) would 
have money in his pocket. Another said that bull 
never got mad anyway; and another said there was 
a pretty good crowd, mostly “ Spiggoties.” ^ Harry 
concluded they were returning from a bull-fight. 
The very thought of the disgraceful entertainment 
sickened him, and he felt humiliated to think that 
any of Uncle Sam’s nephews could find enjoyment 
in it. 

The fellow who had criticised Henriquez left the 
others and turned in at the door. 

'' Excuse me,” said Harry, rising, “ is your name 
Varick?” 

Why?” 

I understand you have a motor-cycle you want 
to sell.” 

Oh, yes, come in ; you saw the ad ? ” 

Harry had seen no “ ad,” but he did not answer. 
The young man led the way through the darkened 


Popular name for the native laboring classes. 


198 


BOY SCOUTS 


hall and, unlocking his door, ushered Harry in and 
lighted a small hand lamp. He was a thick-set fel- 
low, strong and muscular. He wore a dark suit of 
clothes, a stiff white shirt, but neither collar nor tie. 
Though his face was vulgar and unkempt, he seemed 
inclined to be sociable. 

“ Pretty poor scrap to-night,’’ he said, wheeling 
the motor-cycle out from a corner. 

“ I don’t go in for that much,” said Harry, hoping 
to avert a narration of its disgusting particulars. 

Object?” 

“ Yes.” 

** It’s good sport, old man ; nobody down here 
objects.” 

You haven’t asked the bulls what they think, I 
suppose ? ” 

Cut it out, cut it out ! ” said the fellow. 
** You’re new on the ditch? ” 

The only satisfaction Harry got for his pains was 
the knowledge that the fellow regarded him as a 
tenderfoot. He said no more, but fell to examining 
the wheel. 

How much do you want for it ? ” 

I’ll let her go for thirty. I’m busted; want to 
get back to the States.” 

Harry examined it carefully, while its owner ex- 
amined him carefully. 

‘‘ Tools go with it? ” 

‘‘ Sure.” 


AT PANAMA 


199 


May I see them? ” 

Sure/’ 

He dumped the contents of the tool-box on the 
floor. 

‘‘ No wrench ? ” asked Harry. 

Sure,” said the fellow, reaching it down from a 
shelf. Harry noticed that it was not with the other 
tools. More particularly, he noticed that its jaws 
were far apart. He examined the motor-cycle care- 
fully and satisfied himself that it did not contain a 
fifteen-sixteenths nut, nor any nut nearly as large as 
that. The young fellow went to a closet to get the 
pump, and Harry hastily took from his pocket a 
card on which he had marked a space fifteen-six- 
teenths of an inch long. This he laid against the 
wrench and found, to his satisfaction, that it had 
been set for a nut of that size. To be sure, it had 
been opened a little beyond that width, probably to 
release the nut, but the significant facts were, first, 
that it was not with the other tools, and second, that 
the motor-cycle contained no nut larger than a five- 
eighths. 

The young man entered into an extravagant enu- 
meration of the wheel’s merits, and Harry followed 
with his eyes to every point of superiority. 

“Does the carbureter flood all right?” 

“ Does she? Look here.” 

He manipulated the cork float, by way of demon- 
stration. 


200 


BOY SCOUTS 


Harry asked about this and that, the timer, the 
muffler, the electrical connection, the gas tank. 

Isn’t that rather loose ? ” he finally asked, taking 
hold of the chain. It left his fingers greasy, as he 
had hoped it would. 

Loose?” said the owner; “guess you never 
rode one, did you? You want it loose like that,” he 
added, lifting it by one of its links. 

With delight Harry saw his greasy thumb and 
forefinger. 

“ Well,” said he, rising, “ I just wanted to see 
it; I’ll have to think it over. Likely as not. I’ll 
be back. Suppose you just put the address on this 
card so I’ll remember it; I had a tough job finding 
you.” 

The young man was plainly disappointed. He 
offered the wheel for twenty-five dollars without 
the tools or twenty-eight dollars with them. But it 
was of no use. With an ill grace he took the card 
and wrote his name and address. 

“ You’ll never find another bargain like that,” he 
commented, “ and I wouldn’t offer it either, to you 
or anybody else, if I wasn’t all in. If I had thirty 
plunks to-morrow, I could turn them into a hun- 
dred.” 

“ Lottery?” asked Harry. 

“ No, not lottery — I know a game that’ll beat 
that— beat the Canal, too. They’re a lot of stiffs 
and rah-rah boys on the Canal; I can tell you that 


AT PANAMA 


201 


right now. You won’t get a square deal. You can 
take that from me.” 

It was not pleasant to talk with him, nor to listen 
to him, and Harry hurried away. 

That night, in his room, he compared the marks 
on the gasket with the marks on the card, paying es- 
pecial attention to the thumb-marks, for these, he 
had read, were more reliable than the others. He 
studied them under the light with a magnifying 
glass, Vasco Nunez, rudely awakened from his nap, 
watching this mysterious midnight proceeding with 
a look of polite curiosity, occasionally giving a shrill 
whistle to attract his master’s attention. When 
Harry turned in ” for a brief rest, he was satis- 
fied that the fingers which had returned to him the 
card that night were none other than the ones that 
had torn in half the cylinder gasket on old 82.” 

He slept fitfully and had a strange, nervous feel- 
ing all night ; but when he awoke and dressed he was 
calm and resolved. He caught the five-two train for 
Panama and soon found himself knocking on the 
door of his new acquaintance. That personage had 
not yet arisen, but on hearing who was at the door 
he dressed hastily and opened it. In the daylight 
Harry saw him better. He was unshaven, unsightly. 
His ruffled hair and sleepy aspect gave him an ap- 
pearance of shiftlessness which was not agreeable 
to see. 

“ I thought you wouldn’t let her slip, pal,” he said. 


202 


BOY SCOUTS 


Harry sat down on the edge of the disarranged 
bed and spoke in the half-careless tone which was 
characteristic of him, but in a manner that pre- 
cluded discussion or denial. It took the fellow’s 
breath away. 

Varick,” said he, “ or whatever your name is, 
I’ve got to be at work not later than eight o’clock. 
Last night you gave me my choice of buying that 
machine, with or without the tools. Now, I’m going 
to give you your choice of two things. You can get 
your hat on and come along with me now down to 
Culebra and confess to Mr. Barney the contemptible 
revenge you tried to take on him night before last. 
I’ll promise you nothing will happen to you; he 
wouldn’t go to the trouble of kicking you off the 
shovel — see? The other thing is — now wait a min- 
ute, till I finish, you can’t scare me — the other is to 
deny you did it. In that case you go to the Panama 
jail or the Ancon Hospital. Now, just a minute — 
for your own sake. You don’t count for anything 
with me. I don’t care anything about your being 
punished. You don’t suppose I got up at four 
o’clock to waste time on you, do you? A friend of 
mine has got himself suspected of doing your work. 
And let me tell you, too; you don’t suppose I’d 
charge you with this on the strength of what some 
little bird told me, do you? I’ve got the facts that 
will send you to jail. Another thing — before you 
start a circus. You don’t suppose I’d come back 


AT PANAMA 


203 


down here among these back-stabbing Spaniards if 
I was afraid of them, do you? Or of you? So 
don’t waste time ; which will you do ? ” 

There was no anger in his voice and no trace of 
fear; only a touch of careless disgust. 

They both edged toward the door. Harry was 
about to plant himself before it when the other 
jostled him and grabbed him by the collar. There 
was a moment’s struggle until Harry could free him- 
self and get his distance. Then he let fly a blow 
which sent Steers, or Varick, reeling against the 
table, which he vainly tried to grab, but slid down, 
upsetting the motor-cycle, and lay flat on the floor. 

Harry had hoped that this would not be neces- 
sary. His victim lay a moment stunned; just as he 
started to rise there were hurried steps on the stair, 
confused voices, and the door opened admitting two 
half-dressed Spaniards, one of whom carried a 
knife. 

Harry was somewhat shaken up from the force 
of the blow he had given, but he was not nervous 
and he stood straight and manly, his handsome face 
flushed, brushing back the rebellious lock from his 
forehead. 

“ What ees trouble? ” demanded one of the new- 
comers, with a lowering glance at Harry. 

“ Tell them, if you want to,” said Harry, care- 
lessly, to the rising figure, but you’d be better off 
not to; one of them will be blackmailing you first 


204 


BOY SCOUTS 


thing you know.” He cast a sneering look at the 
knife, then up at its owner’s face. 

What ees trouble? ” the foreigner asked again, 
menacingly, of Harry. “ You come here — ” 

“ That’s all right,” said Steers, getting to his feet 
and breathing hard. “ It’s just between us two — 
just a — just a — misunderstanding,” he panted. 
“ Come on, pardner, let’s get out o’ this.” 

Without another word he completed his hasty 
toilet, and Harry watched him with a touch of sym- 
pathy as he bathed the part of his face where he had 
been struck. 

'' It was your own fault,” said Harry. 

That’s all right, pal; I didn’t size you up right.” 

The whistle had blown and the men were at work 
when the two young men scrambled down the em- 
bankment toward “ 82.” It had been a constrained 
and uncomfortable journey, for Steers’ disposition 
to ignore his contemptible act and to make light of 
his morning’s experience, seeking to obliterate it 
in friendly, familiar talk, made him seem little less 
than abhorrent to Harry. He appeared to feel 
neither remorse for the one nor humiliation at the 
other. He spoke of the blow he had received as if 
he and Harry had been disinterested witnesses of a 
fight. 

‘‘ You’ve got that upper-cut fine,” he said. 

Harry had ignored this remark; for, in plain 


AT PANAMA 


205 


truth, he did not know a blow by such a name, and 
he did not feel that the unpleasant necessity which 
had confronted him was a thing to be talked about. 
That Steers, being its victim, could now discuss its 
scientific points, made him repugnant in Harry’s 
eyes. 

They hopped up on 82 ” and into the engine. 

Mr. Barney,” said Harry, “ this fellow wants to 
speak to you. Go ahead. Steers.” 

He waited to see how Steers would begin and then 
jumped down, for he did not wish to add one parti- 
cle to the embarrassment of either. In a few min- 
utes Steers came down and started up the embank- 
ment. 

So long, pal,” he called to Harry. 

Harry went to work as if nothing had happened. 
After a few minutes Mr. Barney called George up 
from the crane and got down himself. Perhaps it 
was the pleasant anticipation in Harry’s mind which 
this unusual proceeding confirmed, but to him Mr. 
Barney had never looked so straightforward, so 
bluntly honorable, so certain of himself and of the 
path of duty, as he did now. Splendid in his burly 
manhood, with a face whose force and character no 
grime could hide, he seemed worthy to be a right- 
hand man of Uncle Sam, — the boss of old “ 82.” 

Arnold,” said he, you hop up there in the crane 
and be careful. I’ve got to do an errand up the 
bank.” 


2o6 


BOY SCOUTS 


It was the first time he had ever left ‘‘ 82 ” during 
working hours. In an hour he was back — with 
Mike. 

Boys,” said he, those of you who heard the dis- 
turbance the other day, I want you to listen. I mis- 
judged this man. Fve asked him to come down here 
so I could make an apology to him before all of you. 
And that I do,” he added, turning to Mike. “ It’s 
the best I can do — though it isn’t much. This boy 
here,” he went on, indicating Harry, “ had sense 
enough to give this matter calmer thought than I 
did. He went to work, found a clue, and brought — 
well, you saw whom he brought here this morning. 
Poor wretch! — I’ve got a little duffer home, and 
if he grows up with a good, clear brain and a pair 
of eyes and a heart like Arnold’s, I’ll be satisfied. 
Mike, will you shake hands? ” he said heartily, hold- 
ing out his own. 

The Irishman did not move, and there was an 
awkward pause. 

“ Yur roight in wan thing, sir,” said Mike, with 
an air of dignified contempt, “ in what ye’ve said 
about the by.” 

“ Well, the boy wants you to shake hands, don’t 
you, Harry?” It was the first time he had called 
Harry by his first name. 

“ Yes, indeed, I do,” said Harry, earnestly. 

“ Come, Mike,” said Barney, extending his hand 
again, for the sake of old 82.” 


AT PANAMA 


207 


Mike hesitated a moment; then, with all the 
warmth of his generous nature, he grasped the 
shovelman’s hand and shook it heartily. 

Across the cut loi,’' her steam up and her 
.work well under way, lay buried in her black 
cloud. 

But the black cloud had risen from “ 82.” 

The day was memorable to Harry for one other 
reason. He often thought afterward how mere 
chance and a careless word had set in motion a whole 
train of developments, as a line of dominoes goes 
down when the first one is toppled over. It was the 
first day of the month, and the pay-train came along. 
It was wonderful what an air of joviality and good- 
feeling the pay-train diffused. All through the 
morning Mike had worked hard and faithfully, but 
without contributing his cordial Yo-ho.’’ But the 
pay-train dissipated any lingering feeling of resent- 
ment his stubborn nature may have entertained. 
For the jingle of gold put every one in good humor, 
and so Harry was glad that it happened to be pay- 
day. 

To look at Empire station you would have thought 
there was a ball-game or a circus going on. On 
every roof and cornice and shed were perched the 
waiting men. They crowded at the platform, laugh- 
ing and talking. Hard by stood the train with its 
fifty-six or more tons of gold and silver coin under 


208 


BOY SCOUTS 


military guard. Inside it were little piles and mini- 
ature mountains of the glittering specie. What 
Harry got seemed very small in comparison with 
the store from which it was taken, but it was good 
pay for a boy of his age and he had earned it. 
Whenever the pay-train came it reminded him to ask 
himself whether his work were faithful and satis- 
factory. Of course it had been uninterrupted, and 
would continue to be. What could interrupt it? 
He had never been even late except this very morn- 
ing, when he came down with Steers half an hour 
after starting time. 

He had a little chamois bag with the monogram 
H. A. worked on it, which had come by mail from 
Oak wood after he had mentioned in a letter to Mar- 
jorie Dan forth that he was paid in gold. Into this 
he poured his treasured coins. 

When he reached home, the success and happiness 
of that gala day when all had gone so well impelled 
him to vent his cheerfulness in a kind of airy gaiety, 
which Vasco Nunez observed with attentive, but un- 
ruffled, inquisitiveness, as if he thought it might be 
the first symptom of insanity, and were well worthy 
of being quietly studied. 

‘'Hurrah for Uncle Sam!” he finally ventured, 
as if to test Harry’s tottering senses. 

“ You bet. Cap 1 Mike’s back, too — yo-ho ho-o-o! 
Look at that! Do you see that, you old grouch? 
That’s gold — that’s a bag of gold ! ” 


AT PANAMA 


209 

The parrot craned his neck to see. He would not 
give an opinion offhand and then regret it. 

That’s the kind of an uncle I’ve got, Cap ; gives 
me bags of gold ! ” ' 

The pupils of the parrot’s eyes contracted till 
they were mere specks, then enlarged, then con- 
tracted again. Harry had noticed this before when 
the bird had essayed a new word or when food was 
approaching, but never so continuously and pro- 
nouncedly as now. 

“ Bags of gold,” he said, “ under bal-al — ” 

Now don’t begin that. Cap,” said Harry. 
Balboa’s tree,” said the parrot, with an air of 
decision, as if no further argument would be con- 
sidered. Then he settled himself and began preen- 
ing his feathers, as if he cared nothing whatever for 
the world’s opinion of his announcement. 

What, Cap ? ” said Harry, curiously. That’s 
something new.” 

'' Pretty Kid,” said the parrot, finally. 

It was the joy of his life to jolly Harry. 


CHAPTER XI 


'' CLEMENTINA, ’fORTY-NINER ” 

It had never occurred to Harry to suspect that 
Requelme’s desire to have his parrot back arose 
from any deeper motive than an opportunity to dis- 
pose of it at a fancy price. Indeed, he had not sus- 
pected that much until the opportune interference of 
Mr. Conne put it into his head. He knew that par- 
rots and monkeys and even baby alligators consti- 
tuted a never failing lure to tourists, and that a flour- 
ishing and amazingly profitable trade was carried on 
in this variety of tropical souvenirs by the crafty 
merchants of Panama. 

As for Vasco Nunez himself, his accomplishments 
fell into three divisions: the few English words he 
knew when Harry bought him, a rather extensive 
Spanish vocabulary which Harry did not under- 
stand, and the new words and phrases he had learned 
from Harry. He was, indeed, quite proficient in the 
foreign tongue, in which his enunciation was more 
expressive and clear than in English, and it exas- 
perated Harry and made him feel quite ignorant and 
inferior when the bird would lower his head in a 
politely condescending way from his favorite place 
210 


BOY SCOUTS 


2lt 


on the clothes-tree, and solemnly observe, Sets 
cientos fusiles/* or El momento oportuno ha lie- 
gado de golpear/' and then settle himself comfort- 
ably and close his eyes with an air of complacence as 
if he were perfectly willing that Harry should con- 
sider these posers at his leisure. Vaya Vd. sacarlos 
de los Estados/' he would also observe, and some- 
times, when he was in a talkative mood, he would 
call, '' P renter amente la Espada, despnes Votos/* 
over and over again, till Harry would give him a 
piece of cocoanut to keep him quiet. 

It seemed as if the bird’s occasional soliloquy 
about bananas, or balanas,” must be a remnant of 
an earlier vocabulary, something he had learned 
away back in the ABC period of his career which 
had grown hazy and jumbled in the lapse of many 
years, since he had “ taken up ” Spanish. 

Since the night of that memorable pay-day, not 
one word had he condescended to utter about Bal- 
boa’s tree, though other pay-days had passed and he 
had been encouraged to become confidential by more 
than one reminding glimpse of his master’s little 
bag of gold. Of one thing Harry grew almost cer- 
tain, and that was that “ balana ” had been not 
simply a mispronunciation of banana, but a groping 
after a once familiar word of which banana re- 
minded him and with which it had become jumbled 
and contused. This word was evidently “ Balboa.” 

From being first simply amused, then curious, 


212 


BOY SCOUTS 


Harry had at last begun to wonder whether there 
might possibly be some remote significance in all 
this hodge-podge about a tree, when something hap- 
pened which convinced him that Vasco Nunez had 
played some important part in the affairs of certain 
individuals, if not in the affairs of nations. Appar- 
ently it had been his cruel fate never to be fully un- 
derstood; his doleful reminiscences about the ba- 
nanas and the tree had fallen on deaf ears in the 
hovel of Requelme, and though he had the full sym- 
pathy of his new and kinder master in these troubled 
memories, Harry was all at sea when the parrot 
launched forth in vehement Spanish. 

The first year of the boy’s work on the Canal 
was drawing to a close, and his hard-earned six 
weeks’ leave was near at hand. We’ll take care of 
you,” Mr. Conne had said, and Harry was looking 
forward to his trip with that engaging friend and 
“ the boys.” “ 82 ” had won the record that first 
month, then had fallen behind for several months, 
and was now creeping perilously near the summit 
figure of 49 ” (a new gladiator in the field). The 
sanitary inspector had come and gone and Vasco 
still held his ground, or, rather, his perch. The 
office,” seeing no way to get rid of Mr. Barney 
but to comply unqualifiedly with his request, had 
put Harry regularly on the line staff.” Jack 
Holden and Harry had become fast friends ; Harry 
was fond of visiting Camp Otis, where Jack was 


AT PANAMA 


213 


quartered, and Jack had been over once, twice — oh, 
several times, to drill the scouts. The coveted medal 
loomed larger with each day of honest hard work 
that Harry did. All the scouts at home in Oakwood 
were waiting for a sight of the precious award; he 
had written about it, of course, and Gordon had re- 
plied that he would be there to see Harry receive 
it.” Marjorie Danforth had acknowledged the in- 
formation by writing that it was perfectly glorious, 
and that he mustn’t dare to come back without it. 

So, first and last, things were going well when one 
fine morning Harry received by mail a card stating 
that a special entertainment would be given on a cer- 
tain evening at the Y. M. C. A. Clubhouse in Pan- 
ama City. It was a kind of card in common use for 
such purposes in the Zone, especially to notify non- 
residents of an approaching function in this or that 
town, and was engraved with spaces left to be filled 
in for the particular affair, date, town, and so forth. 
Such invitations had come to him before from Mir- 
aflores. Empire, and other towns along the line, and 
he had always availed himself of the hospitality of 
those kindly men who were doing so much to make 
the Isthmus seem a home to Uncle Sam’s army of 
toilers, and to encourage intertown friendship and 
sociability. 

On his way downstairs he saw Tom Bonney’s door 
open and stepped in. Tom was standing in front of 
his dresser arranging his tie, for being a surveyor he 


214 


BOY SCOUTS 


could take some thought to his appearance through 
the working day. He was short and stocky and 
stood very straight, and his face was as round and 
jolly as Humpty-Dumpty ’s. Merrick and Walters, 
rodmen whose room was across the hall, were there 
waiting for him. 

“ H’lo, Kiddo,” said Bonney, never so much as 
turning. 

Going to the racket over in Pan ? ’’ asked Harry. 

“ What racket’s that? ” 

Y. M. C. A. — Saturday night.” 

Never touched mef' 

“ Didn’t you get a card, honest ? ” 

No, but then, plain people like Merrick and 
Walters and me don’t expect to be sought after like 
Harry boy.” 

“ Didn’t any of you get cards ? ” Harry asked, in- 
credulously. 

“ No,” drawled Tom, '' and we’re just too mad 
for anything. I know what makes Harry boy so 
popular in ‘ sassiety ’ ; it’s that pretty way he has of 
brushing back that lock of hair — you just can’t 
make it behave, can you. Kid? Show Merrick how 
you do it.” 

‘‘ Oh, cut that out! ” said Harry. 

Can you answer this? ” said Tom, looking stead- 
ily in the glass and wrenching his tie this way and 
that; “if the weight of all the concrete in Gatun 


V., 


AT PANAMA 


2IS 

Dam is three million tons, how much would the 
spillway ? ” 

“ No wonder you’re not invited around,” said 
Harry, '' if you spring things like that.” 

Here’s one Colonel Gorgas asked President Taft 
when he was down here,” said Tom, still busy with 
his tie. If—” 

But Harry did not wait to hear it. He hurried 
from the room with his hands clapped to his ears, 
which was his usual mode of retreat when Tom 
began to bombard him with “ daffodils.” But he 
wondered why it was that this trio had not received 
invitations, for if any fellow was popular in the 
Zone, Tom was; his round, merry face was to be 
seen everywhere. 

At noon he lunched at the Empire mess and men- 
tioned the Y. M. C. A. affair to the little party 
of Administration clerks who had their table in a 
cosy recess of the porch, and who were always glad 
of his company when he ate at Empire. 

“ I understand 82’s falling off,” one mischievously 
observed, as Harry approached. 

“ Wonder what’s the matter with her ; she used to 
be a queen,” another added. 

Poor management, I guess. Oh, hello. New 
Jersey, I didn’t see you! ” , 

Sit down here, friend Harold; how’s your feath- 
ered friend these days? Where you been eating 
lately ? ” 


2i6 boy scouts 

They always jollied ” Harry about 82/’ but he 
didn’t mind it. 

“ Say, Michigan,” ^ said Harry to a young man 
in a silk outing shirt, ‘‘ what are you going to wear 
to 'the racket over in Pan? ” 

'' What racket, my fraptious boy? ” 

‘‘ Didn’t you get one, either? ” asked Harry, in in- 
credulous surprise and showing his card. They all 
disclaimed the honor. 

“ You’re getting turrihle popular, Harry.” 

How’s your friend, the soldier boy, Harry?” 
asked another, helping him to some potato. 

'' Oh, he’s pretty well.” 

“ They tell me you’re getting to be the teacher’s 
pet over at Camp Otis, Harry.” 

And so the desultory talk ran on, interrupted now 
and again by the roar of the noon blast, the dishes 
on the table rattling from the force of the more 
powerful explosions. 

“ I seem to be the only one down this way favored 
by the Pans,” thought Harry, as he went back down 
to 82.” 

On Saturday evening he put on a light-weight suit 
of soft white flannel with a faint stripe running 
through it, donned his raincoat, and caught the 
seven-two train for Panama. 

There was no sign of an entertainment at the 

1 The members of the canal force represented nearly every state and 
city in the Union, and in the familiar parlance of the “bigr camp ” were 
often dubbed according to the state or town from which they hailed. 


AT PANAMA 


217 


Clubhouse. People were passing in and out as 
usual ; there were loungers in the rooms, but no in- 
dication that any special affair was at hand. So 
finally he asked, and was told that nothing was 
scheduled for that night. He went away feeling 
like a fool and wondering whether he were the 
victim of a practical joke. There was nothing to do 
in Panama ; its public diversions did not interest him. 
He wandered through the Plaza, lolled on one of the 
benches and listened to the band for a while, then 
just as he was about to go home, a happy thought 
struck him. He would go up Ancon Hill and call at 
the Tivoli. He did not think there was one chance 
in a hundred of Mr. Conne’s party being there, for 
he knew they were camping back in the brush most 
of the time, and as likely as not would be up in 
Costa Rica or down in Colombia. But he followed 
the road up the long slope till the city lay clear be- 
neath him, its tiny lights reflected in the Pacific, so 
that it looked double its size. 

At the Tivoli (Uncle Sam’s large hotel), he was 
delighted to learn that the trio was there for the 
week-end. He found them in their suite of rooms, 
surrounded by photographic and sketching para- 
phernalia and the enchanting disorder suggestive of 
hasty comings and goings, with the smack (so dear 
to Harry) of '' roughing it ” and camp life. Maps 
and charts littered the floor, and on a table where 
several well-worn books lay, there were a couple of 


2i8 


BOY SCOUTS 


keenly sharpened machettes ^ which had evidently 
seen hard usage. Andy Breen and George Warren 
were on the floor poring over a map, while Mr. 
Conne reclined in an easy chair, his feet on the 
center-table, reading. They were all delighted to 
see him. 

“We just dropped into town after our mail and 
to get our pill-box filled up,” Mr. Conne explained. 
“We carry our shot in one cigar-box and our quin- 
ine in another; the other day George filled a jaguar 
with thirty grains of quinine by mistake — made him 
so nervous and dizzy he fell right oflF a limb and we 
got him alive. What are you all dressed up for, 
Harry? ” 

Harry explained. 

“Huh, practical joke, eh? Well, Tm glad of it 
because it brings you here. We’re just sort of map- 
ping out our Darien trip. How’s old Forty-’leven 
these days? ” 

“ 82 ? ” laughed Harry. 

“ And Blarney?” 

“Oh, Mr. Barney? He’s all right — he’s great; 
we’re a happy family over there.” 

“ Regular ring-around-the-rosy, hey ? ” 

“ They say there’s lots of mud-slinging along the 
Cut,” observed Andy Breen. 

“ That’s a joke, Harry,” said Mr. Conne. 


^Machette: a short knife used in cuttin^f away the jungle; a sort 
Of cross between a hatchet and a cutlass. 


AT PANAMA 


219 


“ Andy's been that way ever since he had malaria. 
Sit right down on those snow-clad peaks, Harry." 

Harry removed a map of South America from a 
chair. 

And tell me about our old college chum, Balboa. 
Any more visits from your friend Vesuvius? " 

No." 

“ Weeping maiden never showed up, eh? " 

‘‘ Haven't seen her." 

Probably drowned in her own tears. Well, 
how's Balboa ? " 

Oh, he's pretty well ; he’s a mystery to me, 
though. Sometimes he talks Spanish and I can’t un- 
derstand him, and he keeps up that old gag about 
the balana tree, but I think I’ve got that translated. 
One day I showed him my pay and he said as plain 
as could be, ‘ Bags of gold under Balboa’s tree.' " 

Get out — the plot grows thinner." 

“ But I haven't been able to get him to say any- 
thing more about it. When I try to, he calls me 
‘ Kid,' or just sits there pecking at his perch." 

Says nothing, but gnaws wood, eh? ” 

Once he said, ‘ Red bananas under Balboa's 
tree ' ; that’s about the most he’s ever said on that 
mysterious subject.” 

Mr. Conne looked amused. You don’t suppose 
he's got something up his sleeve now, do you, 
Harry?" 

I don't know, but I wish you'd be serious — for 


220 


BOY SCOUTS 


once/’ said Harry, laughing in spite of himself. 
‘‘ Do you know, Mr. Conne, — I suppose you fellows 
will laugh when you hear this, — but if I didn’t know 
that the old Spanish gold days were four hundred 
years gone. I’d believe that — ^but, of course, I know 
even a parrot couldn’t be that old.” 

What would you believe? ” 

“Oh, there’s no use telling you; you’d just guy 
me. 

“ Go ahead,” said George Warren, “ he was born 
that way, he can’t help it.” 

Mr. Conne took this dig with a mischievous smile, 
and looked at Harry in a tantalizing way. “ Go on, 
Harry, let’s have it.” 

“ I will not.” 

“ Oh, you just want to be coaxed.” 

“ Well, I tell you what,” Harry blurted out; “ I’d 
believe that bird knows some secret — only — ” 

“ Only for that four hundred years, eh ? ” 

“ Well, you know yourself, Mr. Conne, all the 
gold from Peru was carted across the Isthmus in 
those old days. They had ships waiting on the At- 
lantic coast to take it to Spain. Don’t you sup- 
pose away off in the jungle there may be some 
loose — ” 

“Ingots?” queried Mr. Conne. “That’s what 
the little fellow at home called them, wasn’t it ? Say, 
Harry, wouldn’t he just wallow in an adventure 
after hidden treasure ? ” 


AT PANAMA 221 

Gordon ? ” laughed Harry. Oh, wouldn’t he, 
though? ” 

“ You don’t suppose there’s really any chance of 
his getting down this way? ” 

Not a bit, Mr. Conne; he says he’s coming, but 
he plans trips to the North Pole, to Mars, every- 
where.” 

He’s good as a circus,” mused Mr. Conne. 

Only,” said Harry, reverting rather hesitatingly 
to the other subject, those old days when they 
brought the gold from Peru across the Isthmus — ” 

“ ’Fraid we couldn’t use the Peru act, Harry boy.” 

“How about the pirates?” queried Andy, who 
was beginning to be quite interested. “ They came 
later, didn’t they? And they hid gold.” 

“ Yes, but not enough later; even that was three 
hundred years back,” Mr. Conne chuckled. “ You 
couldn’t give Vasco a couple of hundred years more, 
could you, Harry? Just as an accommodation now, 
to help out? ” He contemplated Harry with a very 
shrewd, businesslike air, holding pencil and paper 
ready as if he were going to figure the thing out if 
Harry would say the word, and make the two ends 
meet. The boy was exasperated. 

“ Oh, well, let’s drop the subject,” said he; “you 
can’t be serious. Of course, I know there haven’t 
been any pirates or Spanish galleons knocking 
around in Vasco’s lifetime.” 

“ Don’t you mind him, Harry,” said George 


222 


BOY SCOUTS 


Warren. “ He gets on my nerves sometimes, too ; 
he’d jolly you if you were dying.” 

“ Now, look here, you boys,” said Mr. Conne, in 
his comfortable, conciliatory way ; “ you’re all so 
very smart ! I’d like to send the whole three of you 
back to kindergarten ! Now, you listen.” 

He picked up one of the machettes and, keeping 
time with it, hummed a stanza of a song which ran 
in Harry’s head for many months thereafter : 

“ In a cavern, in a canon, 

Excavating for a mine. 

Lived a miner, ’forty-niner, 

With his daughter, Clementine. 

Oh, my darling, oh, my darling, 

Oh, my darling, Clementine, 

You are lost and gone forever, 

Drefful sorry, Clementine.” 

“Well, do you know what that means?” he 
smiled, laying down the machette. 

“ I suppose ‘ Clementine ’ is a girl, but I’ll never 
be happy till I know what ‘ ’forty-niner ’ means.” 

“ Well, then, it means the year 1849 — 
the California gold fever — when there was enough 
gold carried across this Isthmus to make old Peru 
look like a County Poorhouse ! ” 

The three boys were plainly interested, much to 
Mr. Conne’s amusement. 

“ Why, that was only — let’s see, that was only 


AT PANAMA 


223 

about sixty years ago, Mr. Conne,” said Harry, in- 
credulously. 

You seem to be all right in arithmetic,” said Mr. 
Conne, even though you are a little rusty in his- 
tory.” 

“ Well, if that’s the case,” said Harry, glancing 
at the books which lay about, I guess I’ve come to 
the right place; you seem to have a way of rooting 
interesting things out of the past, and they never 
seem dry when you tell them. I guess the history 
of this little curleycue neck of land isn’t very dry 
anyway, if it comes to that.” 

“ It’s pretty damp, if it comes to that,” observed 
Andy Breen. 

“ Andy, I’ll stand you in a corner if you don’t 
stop that; that’s a slap at the rainy season, Harry; 
don’t pay any attention to him. Well, now,” Mr. 
Conne added, sliding down in his chair until he al- 
most sat on his back, and crossing his feet on the 
table, suppose we imagine that we’re all sitting 
around the fireside on a wint(;r’s night, mosquitoes 
howling outside, bleak wind cutting up in Culebra 
Cut, snow blowing in sheets and pillowcases through 
the wire netting, and I’ll give you a little heart-to- 
heart chat about dear old times.” 

Don’t forget your darling Clementina,” said 
Harry. 

‘‘ She’ll be on the job,” answered Mr. Conne. 

It was the funniest history lesson that Harry had 


224 


BOY SCOUTS 


ever heard. Later, as he learned from other sources 
and more at length the wonderful story of the Isth- 
mus, he reflected that Mr. Conne’s account was per- 
fectly true when reduced, as Harry said, to a com- 
mon denominator. 

“ I guess the old gentleman fixed you up as far as 
Columbus was concerned, didn’t he, Harry? ” 

“Mr. Wentworth? Yes, and I’ll never forget 
it.” 

“ Yes, he was a nice old gentleman. Well, a while 
after Christopher gave it up for a bad job, in the 
year fifteen sumpty-sump,^ our old friend, King 
Ferdinand, sent a couple of fellows to start settle- 
ments in these parts. One of them, Nicuesa, was 
royal butcher, though the whole tribe were pretty 
good butchers if it comes to that. The other fel- 
low’s name was Uneeda or Ojeda, ^ or some such 
name, and he was quite a boy from all accounts. 
He’d been over with Columbus, and he was the 
champion boy scout of the fifteenth century. One 
time he stood on his head on the top of a church 
steeple to amuse Queen isabella. In short, he was 
the fellow that put the stun in stunt. Both of these 
fellows put in at San Domingo so as to swagger 
around awhile and drum up recruits. Then they 
started off. Ojeda took a small boat and went 
ashore with a few of his followers down at the end 


1 He meant 1509. 


2 Ojeda is correct. 


AT PANAMA 


225 

of the Isthmus where it joins South America, and 
the Indians gave him a great reception. 

“ When they got through with Ojeda’s party, 
there were just two of it left. One was Ojeda him- 
self; there was no way to kill him, because he wore 
a locket which gave him a charmed life, so he said, 
and it was just a waste of good arrows and valuable 
poison to try. He was indestructible. Well, he and 
his one lucky companion went back to the ship, and 
that night they had a meeting and talked things over. 
They decided that they’d rather not be killed so 
fast — in such big batches; so they hoisted sail and 
made a settlement a little farther along the line. 
There they began dying from famine and fever, for 
Uncle Sam hadn’t cleaned up the Isthmus in those 
days. Of course, no ordinary famine could kill old 
Uneeda, but seeing his companions dying off all 
around him, he finally took it into his head to sail 
back to San Domingo for help and provisions. Per- 
sonally, I think it was a good idea. 

Well, now we come to Nicuesa, the royal 
butcher, and he had troubles of his own, too. He 
landed up here beyond Porto Bello, near the Gulf of 
San Bias, and the San Bias Indians gave him their 
undivided attention for a while, and the royal 
butcher picked up some tricks in butchering that he 
never knew before. 

“ Now, Harry, lay down that cartridge-belt and 
listen, for here’s where your old friend comes waltz- 


226 


BOY SCOUTS 


ing on the stage. A relief expedition was started 
from San Domingo to Ojeda’s settlement, in charge 
of an old fellow, a lawyer, who took along his 
books thinking he could put an end to the fever and 
famine by the strong arm of the law. I don’t know 
what use a law book would be in such a case unless 
you could eat it, but anyway he was well equipped. 
However, he wasn’t so wise and sagacious as he 
thought he was. For it was on that very ship that 
our old chum, Balboa, shipped in a barrel. He owed 
money enough in San Domingo to build the Panama 
Canal, with some left over for pin-money, and he 
thought this was a good way to get rid of his trou- 
bles, as I suppose it was. Little the old lawyer knew 
whom he had aboard! Well, sir, in time out comes 
Vasco Nunez de Balboa, like a jack-in-the-box, 
pushes the old lawyer back into a corner, and an- 
nounces that he has an idea or two and would like 
to take charge of the expedition. 

‘ You’re the boy for us,’ said they, and that was 
the beginning of the career of the great Balboa, 
whose head is now on the postage stamps. He took 
charge of things from that time on, and the old 
lawyer had plenty of time to study his books. 

Well, Balboa relieved Uneeda’s starving colony, 
brought them up the coast a ways, and started a real 
genuine settlement which he called Santa Maria. 
And that was the first real town started on the 
Isthmus. Pretty soon, along came Nicuesa, the 


AT PANAMA 


227 


royal butcher, with his followers, but Balboa 
wouldn’t let him land. He had troubles enough al- 
ready. So the royal butcher sailed away — and he 
hasn’t been heard from, from that day to this. I 
don’t believe there’s much chance of his showing up 
now. 

'' Well, Balboa ran the settlement, and it grew and 
prospered. He made good, and that’s why he’s re- 
membered now, while Uneeda and the butcher and 
the lawyer — and the baker and the candlestick- 
maker — are forgotten. He started the first real set- 
tlement, made it prosper, and he discovered the Pa- 
cific Ocean. You see, after all, it doesn’t make much 
difference how bold you are, or how adventurous — 
it’s what you accomplish. 

Now, Harry, here’s where we begin to hear the 
clink of gold. There was an old Indian (^hief that 
used to hobnob with Balboa, and one day he was 
giving out souvenirs — chunks of gold. He was very 
much surprised when he saw the Spaniards make 
such a scramble for it, for he didn’t suppose it had 
any value. But if there’s one thing more than an- 
other that’ll make a Spaniard sit up and take notice, 
it’s gold. 

The chief told them if that was what they were 
after all they had to do was to cross the hills till they 
came to a great sea where, far to the south, lived a 
people that possessed no end of this yellow metal. I 
suppose the old fellow meant Peru. 


228 


BOY SCOUTS 


Well, anyway, Balboa and his followers were on 
the gold roll from that day forth. After a while, he 
assembled a little band of sturdy followers, plunged 
into the jungle, and literally cut his way across to 
the Pacific. It’s a fact that in the course of this ad- 
venturous enterprise he climbed a tree from which 
both oceans were visible, and from whose branches 
he caught his first sight of the Pacific. That’s Bal- 
boa’s Tree. 

‘‘ And that’s as far as Balboa got in the direction 
of Peru. Back through the jungle they went, to 
spring the news on Santa Maria that they had made 
a slight discovery — the Pacific Ocean. But there 
had been some doings at Santa Maria during their 
absence. A new governor had landed and that was 
the end of Balboa’s rule. So, being out of a job, he 
turned his attention to further adventures. That’s 
when he built the ships and carted them over the 
Isthmus in pieces, thinking to launch them in the 
Pacific and heave ho, my lads, for Peru ! 

“ Right there he made the mistake of his life. 
He went back across the Isthmus to Santa Maria for 
something or other — forgot his pocketbook, maybe — 
and there was old What’s-his-name’s ^ chance. 
Quick as a flash, he threw Balboa into jail on some 
cooked-up charge, and the founder of the first settle- 
ment on the Isthmus and the discoverer of the Pa- 
cific Ocean was beheaded — murdered” 


1 Pedrarias, the new governor and an unscrupulous tyrant. 


AT PANAMA 


229 


“ That was a barbarous, cruel age,” said Harry, 
shaking his head in horror at those dreadful last 
words. 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” drawled Mr. Conne ; “ old 
Vesuvius — what-do-you-call-him — Zamora ? He’d 
do the same thing to-day if he had anything to gain 
by it.” 

'' Oh, no, Mr. Conne — ” 

Oh, yes, he would ; he’d stab you in the back 
quick as look at you. Well, now, we’re going to get 
to Peru, at last. Our old pal Uneeda had a friend 
called Pizarro. These names make you dizzy, 
Harry? We’ll wallow through one or two more of 
them, and then, thank goodness, we’ll come to 
Stevens and Chauncey and a few like that. Well, 
now, let’s see, where was I? Oh, yes. Old Gover- 
nor Pedrarias, after he had Balboa murdered, built 
the city of Panama over here on the Pacific side. 
No use looking out of the window, Harry; those 
lights aren’t from the old Spanish city. That’s 
dead and gone; Sir Henry Morgan, the pirate, 
fixed it. 

“ Now this fellow, Pizarro, sailed down the Pa- 
cific to Peru, and there he found quite a civilized 
government which he turned inside out. The kings 
were called the Incas. The tales about Peru proved 
to be correct; gold abounded there, and the gentle 
Pizarro proceeded to squeeze it dry. Murder, mas- 
sacre, slavery, treachery, all the cute little Spanish 


BOY SCOUTS 


230 

tricks he used until Peru became a land of deso- 
lation. 

It’s a long story, red and yellow, blood and gold. 
All this treasure, as you know, was brought up the 
coast to old Panama City and carted across the 
Isthmus to be sent to Spain. They built a road 
through the jungle for that purpose, and it’s there 
yet. George and Andy filmed it up the other day. 
They carted gold across just as they cart earth down 
to Miraflores Dump to-day, or at least it was pretty 
near as plentiful. Panama City became rich. Spain 
became rich. Those were great times, Harry. But 
the merry-go-round always stops. This thing 
couldn’t go on forever. And here is where your 
Uncle Henry makes his bow. I suppose Henry, 
take him first and last, was about the best all-round 
buccaneer that ever flew the skull-and-crossbones. 
There was one good thing about him, anyway; he 
had a plain, ordinary English name — Morgan. 
Sounds good, doesn’t it, after Nicuesa and Ojeda 
and Pizarro and that crowd ? 

“ Well, Sir Henry Morgan saw what was going 
on and he had a weakness for gold himself. It got 
on his nerves to hear about those mule-packs of gold 
crossing the Isthmus and being shipped to Spain, 
and he got just sick thinking of those warehouses in 
Panama City filled up with the precious metal. He 
didn’t like Spaniards anyway. So he made an attack 
on Porto Bello, not so far from where Colon is now. 


AT PANAMA 


231 


By the time he and his merry cutthroats got through 
with it, both its forts were shattered and the town 
was a mass of charred ruins. Most of the in- 
habitants were murdered. The Spaniards got some 
of their own medicine, and Sir Henry got the gold. 
You can see the ruins of the old watch-towers to- 
day, and Andy here scraped his shin on an old can- 
non overgrown with jungle — just where Sir Henry 
left it, I dare say. 

Sir Henry and his band stayed in the old ruined 
city a week or two enjoying themselves, resting up, 
and putting their gold aboard his ships. Before 
leaving, he sent a message across the Isthmus to 
Panama City telling the governor that he had had 
the time of his life and to expect him over there be- 
fore so very long for another ‘ social.’ 

Sir Henry was a noble, upright man, and he 
never broke his word. So, sure enough, awhile 
later he landed at the mouth of the Chagres River, 
cut up through the hills about where the dam is now, 
and hiked it across. He paid his respects to Panama 
City the same as he had to Porto Bello — only more 
so. He separated it from its gold. The buildings 
he burned, the inhabitants he slaughtered, the gold 
he carted back through the jungle. Poor old Pan- 
ama City never recovered from the shock. That 
was the end of its glory. The Spanish king went 
into a rage when he heard of Morgan’s little call, for 


232 BOY SCOUTS 

he thought that he was the grand champion slaugh- 
terer. 

“ Well, well, Harry, you see it’s gold, gold, gold, 
from beginning to end. From the little yellow nug- 
gets the poor ignorant savages gave Columbus, 
right up to the little pile of gold pieces your Uncle 
Sam hands you each month, it’s just a story of 
gold. 

“ Morgan put an end to the Peru business, and to 
Spanish glory in the new world. They built a new 
Panama City — you can see the lights down there 
now, Harry — and walled it in, but somehow Spain’s 
day was over. Too much Morgan — too much gold. 
The people became luxurious and idle, and one thing 
or another combined to end that wonderful period 
of wealth and adventure. Years and years rolled 
by; Colombia, in South America, managed to wrig- 
gle free of Spain, and Panama was one of her prov- 
inces. 

“ But Panama’s middle name was gold, and she 
couldn’t get away from it. Gold, gold, gold! 

Well, in the year 1849 — ^ow hold your hand up 
to your ear, Harry — here comes Clementina; in 
1849 was discovered that California, which we 
had acquired in the Mexican War, was chock full of 
gold. So you see, there you are again — gold, gold, 
gold! 

‘‘ Now in those good old days, there was no rail- 
road west of St. Louis, nor an aeroplane this side of 


AT PANAMA 


233 


Dreamland. There were three ways of getting out 
to that new land of wealth. One was around Cape 
Horn ; one was by caravan over the Rockies ; and the 
other was to come right down here to this very same 
little old Isthmus by ship, cross it, then on up the 
Pacific coast by vessel to California. It seems a 
long way round, but it was the quickest, easiest, and 
cheapest. To make things easier, a few American 
gentlemen got together and started the Panama Rail- 
road, and it was some job! You hear it said there 
was a life sacrificed for every tie laid. They’re 
pretty good ties — lignum- vitae — the only wood that 
can stand the jungle and the swamp- worms, but I 
wouldn’t give my life for one of them. 

Well, in the year ’49, Harry, there was a perfect 
stream of gold-seekers crossing the Isthmus; had 
the Peru act beat all to nothing. 

‘‘ The railroad went only part way, and it was a 
toss-up whether the train landed you anywhere. I 
say landed, because the tracks sank into the swamp 
about as fast as they laid them. So most of the 
’forty-niners canoed up the Chagres to Gamboa, just 
about where the Cut begins now, then hiked it the 
rest of the way across. Your uncle hadn’t shown 
up with his mop and his quinine pills then, and lots 
of them died — malaria, cholera, yellow fever — the 
jungle is full of their bones now, poor fellows; some 
of them going, some coming, some on their way back 
with — ^yes, sir, with hags of gold. Why, Harry, 


234 boy scouts 

haven’t you been down to the old sea-wall in the 
city ? ” 

“ Yes, I walked along it the other day.” 

Well, didn’t you notice the initials cut in the 
stones? ” 

Yes, I thought those were old Spanish — ” 

“ No-o ! Those were cut there by good Ameri- 
cans — ’forty-niners, waiting for the ships to come 
up the coast and take them aboard. Some of them 
never saw home again. I often wonder, when I look 
at those initials, just who they belonged to and how 
they made out in their gold hunt. I can just see 
them sitting there on that old wall, burning up with 
fever, half of them, and cutting their obscure names 
in the stone just to kill the time while waiting to 
catch a first glimpse of a sail or a line of smoke to 
the south. All the Chilian and Peruvian ships 
stopped at Panama to take them on. Then, yo-ho 
for Eldorado ! ” 

Harry had been deeply interested as Mr. Conne 
rattled on. 

I noticed those initials,” said he ; ‘‘ there was 
one pair carved deep and very plain, F. B. I thought 
likely they stood for Fernando Bazzizo, or some 
such — ” 

Frank Bennett, like as not; but it would be fun 
to know just who that fellow was, wouldn’t it, 
Harry? Like enough his bones are in the jungle 
now — ^his gold too, maybe, if he got any.” 


AT PANAMA 


235 


Harry was silent for a few moments, and Mr. 
Conne, apparently through talking, was sharpening 
a pencil with the tip end of one of the old machettes. 

“ It’s a funny thing, isn’t it,” Harry finally mused, 
“ to leave home and never be heard from again ? ” 
Yes, very cute,” said Mr. Conne, eying the point 
of the pencil. 

‘‘ No, but really,” said Harry, '' just to go away 
and never be heard of again. You can’t stop think- 
ing about it. There was a fellow home in Oak- 
wood — he was before my time, but his sister lives 
there yet, and I’ve often heard the old lady tell how 
he went to the Mexican War and was never heard of 
from that day to this.” 

‘‘Died fighting under Scott?” said Mr. Conne. 
“ Well, he was a good man to die fighting under. 
You’re not going yet? ” 

“ Yes, I’ve got to,” said Harry, rising. “ Mr. 
Conne,” he added, as they all gathered about him to 
say good-by, “ will you please be serious a minute, 
and don’t guy me? I know you think I’ve got the 
adventure bug, but do you suppose it’s possible that 
that parrot knows something — that he has some 
secret — that he knows where — ” 

“ Knows where what ? ” Mr. Conne pressed with 
mischievous resolve; “go on, finish.” 

“ Where there’s treasure hid, then,” Harry blurted 
out, blushing a little to admit his romantic credulity. 

Mr. Conne put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, im- 


236 


BOY SCOUTS 


mensely pleased at the boyish, adventurous nature 
Avhich Harry could not conceal. 

Harry, you’re a great boy.” 

Oh, you’re always saying that.” 

Well, then, what shall we do? Start a treasure- 
seeking syndicate? You be president. I’ll be treas- 
urer, and the parrot will be confidential secretary.” 

Do you think maybe he knows ? ” Harry per- 
sisted, ignoring these joking remarks. 

Mr. Conne cocked his head sideways in his busi- 
nesslike fashion, and for a moment looked serious 
and thoughtful. 

‘‘ I think it’s just possible,” said he. 


CHAPTER XII 


AN INTRUDER 

He would just as soon stab you in the back as 
look at you” 

That was the sentence which rang in Harry’s mind 
as he went home. Mr. Conne had said it of Zamora, 
and the boy had unbounded confidence in Mr. 
Conne’s wisdom. Had he said it merely as a casual 
remark, or did he mean it as a warning? Just as a 
casual remark, Harry decided. 

But here was a man, a friend, good, fair, and with 
amazing shrewdness, and he had said that some one 
would just as soon stab a person in the back as look 
at him! Harry had as little fear as a boy could 
have; he had risked his life more than once, but the 
idea of a person stabbing another in the back, creep- 
ing up slyly and silently — oh, well, he thought, that 
was only an expression, a way of saying that Zamora 
would stop at nothing to carry out his purpose. So 
he ceased, or tried to cease, thinking about the un- 
pleasant sentence with its suggestion of stealth and 
cowardice, and thought of the pleasant evening he 
had had, doubly pleasant because unexpected. 

“If some one sent me that card for a practical 
237 


238 BOY SCOUTS 

joke/’ he chuckled, “ they got stung, with an accent 
on the stung.” 

Ever since he had listened to the soft, meditative 
voice of old Mr. Wentworth telling about Columbus, 
he had wanted to know more about the Isthmus, and 
now he had the tale, filtered of its dry details by 
passing through the mind of Mr. Carleton Conne. 
‘‘ Let’s see,” he thought. I guess I’ve got it all 
now, except the story of how the French tried to dig 
a canal. I’ll get him to tell me that too, sometime,” 
he added. Then he fell to thinking about the ’forty- 
niners, and wondering who “ Clementina ” was. 

Just a girl in the song, I suppose,” he concluded; 
“ probably her brother or her lover went to Cali- 
fornia for gold, and maybe — yes, maybe those were 
his initials — the F. B. ; no, not if she was only a girl 
in a song. But it would be interesting to know 
whose initials they really were, and what became of 
him and whether he got any gold. That,” he mused, 
“ was, let’s see, sixty-one — two — yes, sixty-two years 
ago.” Then he fell to wondering how old Vasco 
Nunez de Balboa really was, and whether his chat- 
tering could actually have any — 

“ Hello, Harry.” 

“ Oh, hello. Jack; when did you get on? Where 
are we, anyway? ” 

Just leaving Corozal, but I’ve been on since we 
left Pan. What’s the trub? Sleepy? ” 

'' I guess I was half dreaming,” Harry confessed, 


AT PANAMA 


239 

as he moved closer to the window for Jack Holden 
to sit down beside him. 

I don’t often see you on the last train,” said the 
soldier. 

“ That’s because I’m not often on it,” said Harry. 

By the time I have mess and get to quarters nights. 
I’m about ready to flop down in an easy-chair. 
Where do you get off ? ” 

Las Cascadas is the nearest to camp. Some- 
times I get out and beat it up from Empire. I can 
get back into camp that way without touching the 
Cascadas station. You never know who you’ll meet 
there.” 

That’s when you sneak off, you mean? ” 

‘ Auto-leave,’ we call it — leave we give our- 
selves.” 

Oh, I see.” 

But to-night I’m going to drop off at Paraiso 
Junction.” 

Somebody hanging around Empire station ? ” 

Sure. I’m tired, too; this is my temp day; I’d 
like to sit here up to Cascadas.” 

“ Temp day? ” 

Malaria. Didn’t it strike you yet ? Some 
days I run up to a hundred and two, but not 
often.” 

“Oh, fever?” 

“Well, I guess; but it gets into your joints and 
makes you tired.” 


240 


BOY SCOUTS 


The doctor told me/’ said Harry, that if I ate 
light and didn’t smoke and rested nights instead of 
knocking around over in Pan, like some of the fel- 
lows, I probably wouldn’t get sick, and I haven’t been 
sick yet.” 

That’s a good shot,” Jack laughed amiably. 

Oh, I didn’t mean that for you.” 

I guess you find Barney a pretty hard boss, 
don’t you? ” 

‘‘ He isn’t my boss,” said Harry. 

Did you quit? ” asked Jack, in surprise. 

“ No, indeed, but Mr. Barney and I work for the 
same boss. So do you, if it comes to that.” 

“ Oh, you mean the gov — ” 

‘‘ Uncle Sam,” interrupted Harry. 

Huh! ” Jack sneered. 

Jack,” said Harry, after a pause, “ I don’t see 
why you ever went into the army if you dislike it so 
much. You must have known you’d have to stick 
it out.” 

Oh, I just took it for a flier. I was out of a job 
and a fellow came down the river up home getting 
recruits.” 

“ You live in Missouri, don’t you, Jack? ” 

Born there, in Whitville, right on the Missis- 
sippi. My mother and sister wanted me to go down 
and enlist; they said it was better than loafing, and 
everything was dead in town. So I did it to please 
them, and now, you see, my hands are tied behind 


AT PANAMA 241 

my back. I could get a good job right here on the 
ditch if I had the chance.” 

I doubt it, Jack; they’re not increasing the force 
any more, but lessening it. You see, the end is in 
sight. You couldn’t get on the gold roll anyway 
without Civil Service. If I were you, Fd just buckle 
down and make the best of it.” 

It’s a long time, two years.” 

Oh, no, it isn’t ; it’ll soon be up. Do you know. 
Jack,” he continued earnestly, in the chummy way 
that he often fell into with Jack, ever since I 
started away from home it seems to me that every 
one has been saying to me in one way or another, 
‘ Don’t give up — don’t be a quitter.’ They haven’t 
just said it, you know, but — oh well, now for in- 
stance, I know a girl and she said to me when I was 
starting away, ‘ Don’t be a what-do-you-call-it, will 
you ? ’ She had an idea I might get sick or tired or 
homesick or discouraged and go home. She knew 
there was some word that fellows use for one that 
gives up; and I think her way of saying it — calling 
it a ‘ what-do-you-call-it ’ — I think that’s helped to 
keep me going when I have been a little tired. I do 
get dead tired sometimes. Jack. And when we write 
to each other we have our little joke about being a 
‘ what-do-you-call-it,’ and she asks me to tell her 
what the word really is and I won’t do it because I 
like her to use ‘ what-do-you-call-it.’ How old is 
your sister, Jack? ” 


242 


BOY SCOUTS 


Seventeen.’' 

“ Do you know,” said Harry, after a pause, ‘‘ I 
think a girl hates a quitter worse than a man does. 
They tell you not to run any risks, and then if you 
take their advice and balk at danger, they despise 
you. It’s funny.” 

Jack said nothing. 

“ Then there was an old gentleman on the steamer 
who told me about Columbus and a fellow named 
Mendez, and — oh, well, the whole thing of it was, 
Don't give up. I like it down here; I’ve made lots 
of friends, and you’re one of the best of them too. 
And Tm fond of my work. But even if I wasn’t, I 
wouldn’t give up. As sure as I sit here, there isn’t 
any pov/er on earth that would make me give up, no 
sir, there isn’t ! I’m going to stay here till the Canal 
opens, till I’ve worked two full years. I’m going to 
win the medal ! ” 

Jack laughed good-naturedly at Harry’s enthusi- 
asm. “ You’ve sure got that medal on the brain, 
haven’t you ? ” said he. 

Harry laughed, too. '' Yes,” he said, “ it’s my 
middle name. It’s a funny thing. Jack, I always 
dream of it when I’m tired. Sometimes I’ll come 
home played out and feel that I can’t work another 
day and then I’ll go to sleep and dream about that 
medal. Have you seen the one they’ve got on exhi- 
bition up at the Administration Building? There 
are two, so you can see both sides. They’re in a 


AT PANAMA 


243 


glass case. One side shows Culebra Cut I’m glad 
of that, because I work in the Cut, and mine will be 
a reminder — I wish,” he broke off, that I had 
that picture of Uncle Sam — ” 

Oh,” laughed Jack, ‘‘ I’ve seen pictures enough 
of him.” 

'' I know, but this one was different ; he looked like 
the grandest old boss you ever saw ! And honestly, 
whenever I think about getting the medal, I always 
think of him handing it to me. What’s the mat- 
ter ? ” he queried, smiling suddenly. 

Oh, nothing ; only you’re a funny fellow.” 

How?” 

Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind being like 
you. You’ve certainly got the medal bug all right, 
and I hope you win it, Harry; honest, I do. I 
guess it would about kill you if you didn’t,” he 
added. 

Oh,” laughed Harry, the thought of that 
medal is what’s kept me well; doctor says it’s the 
quinine, but I told him, no, it was the medal.” 

Jack laughed amiably. He did like Harry im- 
mensely, and he was always generous enough to be 
interested in his friend’s ambition. 

'' Will you come to scout meeting Tuesday 
night ? ” Harry asked»< 

“ Barney going to be there ? ” 

“ Maybe — I don’t know ; but that needn’t stop 
you.” 


244 


BOY SCOUTS 


He doesn’t like me.” 

“ Yes, he does; we all do— all the kids; and I do, 
especially.” 

Yes, that was true; everybody liked him. Mr. 
Barney did not always believe him, and I’m afraid 
he had not much respect for him; but he liked him. 

“ Jack, Mr. Barney says — ” 

Junction ! ” called the trainman. 

Jack rose. He had listened, somewhat impressed 
with Harry’s talk, for he was a good-hearted fellow 
and genuinely fond of Harry. But he seemed a little 
bewildered at his friend’s earnestness. I dare say 
he set Harry down for a dreamer with a pleasant 
little touch of impracticable romance about him. If 
so, he was half right. 

Well,” said he, pushing Harry’s cap off his head 
as a parting pleasantry, “you’re right, old man; 
you’ve got the right idea of it, and if I should go on 
auto-leave you can just bet I wouldn’t go home, be- 
cause she’s like your ' what-do-you-call-it ’ friend — 
my sister is. So long.” 

He swung off the train and struck into the Empire 
road, his erect form and straight shoulders showing 
in the glare of the one small electric bulb which hung 
at the deserted station. His head was thrown back 
in that splendid, nonchalant fashion which Uncle 
Sam has a way of teaching to his soldiers, and he 
seemed to Harry more handsome and manly than 
ever before. 


AT PANAMA 


245 


A few moments more and the train stopped af 
Culebra, where Harry alighted. As he passed the 
Administration Building on his way through the vil- 
lage, he noticed a single lighted window in the lower 
corner. Even as he watched it, somewhat surprised 
that any of the business offices should be in use so 
late, the light went out and then a man in white 
emerged from the main entrance and started across 
the little patch of lawn. 

He wore no hat and carried an armful of papers. 
Harry stood still under a palm tree, watching; but 
the man’s head was bowed as if in thought, and he 
did not see the boy. A few yards distant was a large 
bungalow with a pretty arched trellis around the 
door. Within it hung a light, and as the man ap- 
proached this Harry could see that his hair was very 
gray; it shone like silver in the glare of the electric 
bulb. For just a moment he caught a glimpse of 
the face. He had seen it once before but had not 
known then whose it was. There was something 
very calm about the face, as if its owner possessed a 
mind so trained and clear that it could decide things 
without much thinking about them. Irresistibly, 
just in that one moment, the conviction was borne 
home to the boy that there was just the kind of man 
whose advice he would like to ask if he were ever 
uncertain or in trouble. Then the figure disappeared 
within the bungalow. 

''It’s the Old Man,” said Harry to himself; "I 


246 


BOY SCOUTS 


wonder what he was doing over there all alone so 
late.” 

As he reached quarters, the familiar voice of Tom 
Bonney floated down in greeting through the dark- 
ness and, looking up, he saw two dim forms tilted 
back in two chairs on the screen-enclosed balcony. 

That you, Harry?” 

'' Yes,” Harry answered. “ Get away from my 
window, you old loafer. Who’s that with you, Rus- 
sell? What are you doing up on my floor, any- 
way? ” 

^Hf / can stand it, you ought to be able to,” re- 
torted Tom. Jiminies, these steam-shovel hands 
think they own the Isthmus ! ” 

“ Hey, Russell,” called up Harry, haven’t I told 
you not to bring any of that first-floor trash up on 
our veranda? ” 

Hush,” said Russell, '' you’ll wake the baby.” 

“ Say, Harry,” called Tom, there’s a bat in your 
room, or else that bird of yours is loose and flopping 
round. I tried to get in, but your window-blinds 
were locked.” 

I didn’t lock them,” said Harry. Wait a min- 
ute and I’ll be with you. How is it, cool up there? 

‘‘ Oh, so so, but I’m going to turn in now — too 
much drilling going on.” ^ 


1 In the familiar Isthmian parlance, the work of a mosquito as he 
buries his sting in the flesh was aptly called “ drilling,” and the insect 
himself was commonly called a “ drill.” 


AT PANAMA 


247 

** You fellows must have stuck your feet through 
the screen,” said Harry. 

The two rose as Harry disappeared within the 
entrance. They stepped through the window of 
Russell’s room, Tom Bonney passing into the hall 
and down the stairs, meeting Harry as he came up. 

“ How was the racket ? ” said he. 

“ There wasn’t any.” 

Get out ! ” 

“ Sure as I’m standing here.” 

“ Somebody kidding you, eh ? ” 

‘‘ Looks that way.” 

“ Huh, pretty mean kind of a trick.” 

Oh, well,” said Harry, no harm done. What’s 
this you’re giving me about my room ? ” 

‘‘ There’s a bat or a ghost or some old thing in 
there. Russell and I went out about nine to get 
some Canal Zone’s own ozone — ” 

Some which ? ” 

“ Ozone — fresh air.” 

Oh.” 

And we heard something flopping round in 
there. You haven’t added a monkey to your men- 
agerie, have you ? ” 

I guess it’s just the window-shade,” said Harry. 

Like as not, but I tried to get in and investigate. 
Say, Harry, did you hear that one about — here, wait 
a minute — it’s a new one, just fresh out of the oven! 
If a man with a machette can chop away a mile of 


248 


BOY SCOUTS 


jungle a day, how much could Culebra Cut? Here, 
wait a minute, that isn’t all ! ” 

But Harry was retreating frantically up the stairs 
with his hands at his ears. 

It was evident that Tom had not been greatly 
alarmed at the sounds in Harry’s room, nor was 
Harry at hearing of them. But something, perhaps 
it was that sentence of Mr. Conne’s, perhaps the gen- 
eral effect of all he had heard that evening — some- 
thing, in any event, prompted him to pause outside 
his room before he unlocked the door, and feel in 
his pockets for a match, but he had none. Then, 
laughing at his own groundless apprehensions, he 
unlocked the door and striding in, stumbled against 
the center-table, reached above it and turned on the 
electric light. 

Vasco Nunez was swaying from side to side on 
his perch, the pupils of his eyes contracted to very 
pinheads, and glaring through the wires straight at 
the bed, whose white counterpane, conspicuous in 
the sudden light, was stirring where its fringe almost 
touched the floor. Harry went up to the bird and 
spoke to it, but Vasco ignored him utterly, swaying 
back and forth in his crouching attitude, which 
would have been impressive in a tiger, but which in 
a parrot was quite ludicrous. Glancing at the win- 
dow to see if a draught of air might be swaying the 
counterpane, he saw that the little button had been 
turned, locking the blinds. 


AT PANAMA 


249 


He was now truly perplexed and apprehensive. 
Something was wrong here; but he kept his head. 
Going to the dresser, he took out his little pearl- 
handled revolver, whistling meanwhile, as if care- 
less and unsuspecting. Then, standing well away 
from the bed and out of range of anything beneath 
it, he cautiously lifted an edge of the counterpane 
and peered beneath it. Far over in the corner two 
eyes glared through the darkness like the eyes of an 
enraged animal at bay. But it was no animal, for 
beside the eyes there was something else which 
gleamed — a something which beasts do not use. 

It was the glitter of steel. 


CHAPTER XIII 


LITTLE PEDRO 

Retreating a pace or two, with his revolver 
pointing beneath the bed, Harry ordered the crouch- 
ing object to come forth. To his surprise, there 
obediently emerged a bundle of rags which, as it 
gathered shape, proved to be a very small boy not 
more than eight or nine years old. He held a vi- 
cious-looking stiletto in his hand and seemed in a 
very panic of terror, looking first toward the door, 
then toward the window in frantic search for a 
means of escape. 

Lay that on the table,” said Harry, quietly ; 
‘‘ now put both your hands on your head — you 
needn’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” He 
felt carefully where the pockets would have been if 
the tattered rags could have boasted such luxuries, 
but found no other weapon. 

What did you come here for? ” said Harry; to 
steal?” 

I no steal,” the little fellow panted. His terror 
was quite as pitiable as his clothing. I honest 
Spiggoty.” 


250 


BOY SCOUTS 


^51 


“ Well, then,” pursued Harry, gently, “ what did 
you come for? Don’t look at the door, look at me.” 

Harry ‘was not slow to see the trap in which the 
little fellow had been caught. The mosquitoes which 
had driven his friends in from the veranda had, no 
doubt, swarmed in through a hole in the screen, 
which had been made by this small intruder. Then, 
after his entrance into the room, Tom Bonney and 
Russell had taken their places outside the window, 
unconsciously shutting off the boy’s avenue of es- 
cape, and when he heard Harry’s step on the stairs 
he had made for the only concealment the room 
afforded. 

All this Harry realized. But why had this ragged 
urchin singled him out as a victim of his thefts; for 
what else, indeed, could have brought him there? 
Harry knew how precocious these diminutive 
‘‘ Spiggoties ” were ; he had seen them swaggering 
about the wharves beguiling tourists with their reck- 
less pranks, but this little fellow displayed none of 
the unpleasant bravado which most of them showed 
in the face of death or danger, and despite his un- 
seemly rags and his evidently criminal purpose, 
Harry could not altogether conquer a feeling of 
sympathy for him, he was so small and in such a piti- 
able state of terror. Harry had a fondness for small 
boys and his winning quality with them was unfail- 
ing. 

Aren’t you rather small to be a — to break into 


252 


BOY SCOUTS 


a person’s room? You’re likely to get killed some 
day, doing a thing like that. Or you’ll be sent to 
jail, and that wouldn’t be much fun.” 

'' I honest — ” 

Sit down there,” said Harry. ‘‘ Oh, no, you’re 
not honest or you wouldn’t break into my room — 
and with a knife like that,” he added, taking up the 
stiletto and chuckling in spite of himself. Why, 
it’s almost as big as you are.” Then he shuddered 
as he felt its vicious edge and examined it more 
carefully. Huh,” said he, “ who’s F. B. — your 
father ? Whom does this belong to ? ” 

The boy stared in open-eyed wonder at Harry. 
He had evidently expected that his captor would 
kill him, or at the very least march him uncere- 
moniously to the lock-up. But Harry appeared 
more interested in the knife than in its late pos- 
sessor. 

What’s your name ? ” 

Hernando.” 

‘‘ Hernando what? ” 

“ No more — jes’ Hernando.” 

'' Huh. Of course, if you won’t tell me the truth 
we might as well stop talking. You understand 
English?” 

“ Nah — I no have Engleesh — only Spanish.” 

Come here, Hernando. You understand that, 
don’t you? Well, now, you listen carefully — and 
don’t try to make me think you don’t understand. 


AT PANAMA 


253 


You tried to do something dishonest and you failed. 
Now you give the other way a try — understand? 
You understand that, don’t you? Yes, of course, 
you do — you know heaps, plenty, English. Who 
sent you here? Tell me who that knife belongs to. 
Careful now, and we’re going to be good friends.” 

“ I can no tell you; he kill — ” 

Oh, no, he won’t kill you, either. Come now, 
what’s your right name?” 

Whether the little boy’s predicament had so de- 
prived him of his presence of mind that he knew 
not what he was saying, or whether Harry’s friendly 
manner and the utter hopelessness of fooling him 
had produced their effect, the small boy blurted out 
a name which caused Harry to stare in amazement. 

''Pedro RequelmeP 

" That your name? Or your father’s? ” 

Nah — no father — dead — long time; grand- 
father.” 

‘‘ I see,” answered Harry, hardly able to contain 
his astonishment, and — ” 

“ YaSj I same name; father, grandfather, little 
Pedro — all same name.” 

It was not till this minute that Harry associated 
the entry into his room with anything but the idea 
of theft. But now he looked with new interest at 
the wretched, panting boy before him. Doubtless, 
the poor little panic-stricken brain saw, with quick 
instinct, a safer refuge with this quiet, unangered 


254 


BOY SCOUTS 


American boy than with those who had sent him 
when their rage should be aroused by his failure to 
accomplish their errand. At any rate, Harry’s 
efforts to get the truth were rewarded more quickly 
than he had expected, and with the boy’s mention 
of. Requelme’s name the events of the evening took 
on a mysterious significance. He knew now who 
was responsible for that bogus invitation which had 
led him on a wild-goose chase to Panama. And 
there — it might be a mere coincidence, to be sure — 
but there, lying on the table was a stiletto on the 
wooden handle of which were carved the initials 
F. B., — the same he had noticed in the old sea-wall 
at Panama! 

Harry rose and went to the window, humming to 
himself the catchy tune which Mr. Conne had 
hummed, as he unbuttoned and threw open the 
blinds. 


Oh, my darling, oh, my darling, 
Oh, my darling, Clementine.” 


Pedro,” said he, still busy with the screen, you 
didn’t shin up that leader-pipe, did you ? ” 

Yas— sir.” 

“ What do you do for a living, Pedro ? ” Harry 
asked absently, but it was a sensible enough ques- 
tion, for the lower-class boys of Panama have their 
choice of earning their own livings or starving. 

I dive for pennies — in Colon.” 


AT PANAMA 


255 


“So?” said Harry, seating himself and talking 
carelessly to put the boy at his ease. “ Well, now, 
you let me tell you something. I don’t like either 
one of your businesses — they no good,” he added, 
pleasantly imitating the boy’s own way of talking. 
“ Why, the very first day I came to Panama a little 
fellow who was diving for pennies got caught under 
water in the pipe of one of those big suction-dredges, 
and if I hadn’t supposed he was caught by a shark 
and gone down after him — why, there’d have been 
one less small boy to dive for pennies in Colon 
Harbor. Then, this other business — why, that’s a 
horrible business for a little boy to be in — breaking 
into people’s rooms ! ” 

He paused as he saw the little fellow staring at 
him with wonder in his eyes. 

“ You save me? ” he gasped. 

“ What ? ” said Harry. 

“ Yas — you save me — I know! See,” he added, 
“ see, I show you.” And with a miracle of dex- 
terity by which the usual process of taking off a 
garment was entirely ignored, he bared his back, 
displaying a black and blue line across it. “ See I ” 

“ Yes, I see,” said Harry, lifting the tattered gar- 
ment over the little shoulder again. “ Does it hurt 
you now ? ” 

“ Nah — no more — only when swim — try to swim 
— hurt, ouch! I glad I see you, now. You know 
plenty how swim I ” 


BOY SCOUTS 


256 

Come here, Pedro.” The little boy obeyed and 
stood between Harry’s knees. If there had been no 
other reason for handling this wretched, neglected 
urchin carefully, I dare say Harry’s natural good- 
ness of heart would have inclined him to pity rather 
than to blame the child. But there were other rea- 
sons for not spoiling an opportunity to learn some- 
thing by antagonizing and frightening him. Fate 
had brought to him the very boy whose life he had 
saved; he had come for a purpose, that was sure, 
and he was the grandchild of the proprietor of the 
Balboa Bazaar. 

Doubtless the cruel, sinister old man felt per- 
fectly assured of his power over the little boy who 
lived in mortal dread of him, and little did he dream 
that the gentleness and winning personality of an 
American boy would shatter all his blustering au- 
thority and confound all his plans. Very likely the 
big, flabby hand under which Vasco Nunez had 
shrunk in fear had been felt with equal cruelty by 
the little boy who had been sent on this dangerous 
mission ; but the old man’s evil influence and 
power faded away when Harry said, “ Come here, 
Pedro,” and the little fellow went and stood be- 
tween his knees. In all his short and checkered life, 
he had never received such an invitation before. 
And to receive it from the very person whose room 
he had broken into! Pedro did not understand 
this. 


AT PANAMA 


257 


“ So you’re the little boy I saved. Well, Fm glad 
you came to see me, Pedro — though you didn’t 
know whom you were coming to see, did you? Do 
you know what I once heard, Pedro? That if two 
people meet twice in some strange way, it’s a sign 
they’ll be good friends. And that’s the way it is 
with us. First, we met at the bottom of the har- 
bor, and here we meet again. And to show you 
what a wonderful magician I am, I can tell you 
what you came here for. Now, see if Fm not right. 
You came for Mr. Zamora and your grandfather to 
get my parrot — isn’t that so? ” 

The boy stared in speechless amazement, trying 
to fathom how Harry could know Zamora. Then 
he spoke. 

You save my life,” said he, yas — plenty 

brave — I like you. I not kill you.” 

No,” laughed Harry, I dare say it would be 
just as well not to.” 

But his easy manner presently gave way to alarm 
as little Pedro crossed to the dresser and taking the 
quinine bottle, emptied its contents into the basin. 
“ I no kill you,” he repeated, shaking his little head 
resolutely. 

Harry followed his movements, shocked, horri- 
fied. Come here, Pedro,” he said, the dismay 
lingering in his voice. '' Why — why did you do 
that? Was there anything — ” 

I no kill you,” the little fellow repeated dog- 


258 BOY SCOUTS 

gedly. “ You plenty brave — plenty good — I no kill 
you/' 

The ragged little form was trembling visibly as 
Harry drew it toward him, but the child kept re- 
peating the words to himself as if to strengthen his 
determination. Perhaps it was the first good de- 
termination he had ever made. Perhaps the new 
light which had flared in his poor little, misguided, 
ignorant brain dazzled him; but he shook his head 
as if refusing an order just given him. I no kill 
you — I no do that." And he was too much agitated 
to talk. 

‘‘You put poison in that, Pedro? " asked Harry, 
gently, but he got no direct answer ; only “ I no kill 
you," as if there were no use saying more. 

“ All right, Pedro," said Harry ; “ you’re going 
to stay here with me to-night and to-morrow we’ll 
have a talk." 

“ Nah — he wait for me." 

“Who, Zamora? Well, let him wait," said 
Harry. 

Little Pedro’s silence was his assent. By some 
strange oversight of Pequelme, a spark of good had 
been left unextinguished in the little fellow. It 
needed only this meeting with the American boy 
and the realization that he was face to face with his 
rescuer, to give it life. The brutal Requelme and 
the wily Zamora had reckoned without these things, 
and little Pedro, despite their well-considered plans. 


AT PANAMA 


259 


had gone over to the enemy. And as this strange, 
ill-assorted pair sat late that night, there recurred 
to Harry’s mind the good scout maxim which his 
own scoutmaster, away home in Oakwood, was so 
fond of expounding; how a good turn lives forever 
and bears fruit; how it is sure to yield a harvest 
some time or other after the deed itself has been for- 
gotten. Not a thought had Harry given to his deed 
in Colon Harbor. Yet here it was, come to his 
rescue in a time of peril. And its good effects were 
only just begun. 


CHAPTER XIV 


BALBOA AND MR. CARLETON CONNE 

Yes, as sure as you live, little Pedro was a de- 
serter! And what have you to say to that, Mr. 
Barney? You, who said there was only one kind of 
desertion? You see, Mrs. Barney was right, after 
all. Well, well, a few kind words and little Pedro 
deserted the cause. A few kind words are not a bad 
sort of investment. 

Who would say that little Pedro was wrong in 
deserting? That would be something of a joke on 
Mr. Barney, Harry thought. Then he recollected 
that he had never mentioned Zamora or Requelme 
or even Vasco Nunez to Mr. Barney, and not for 
worlds would he have mentioned to him the subject 
of hidden treasure; Mr. Barney was too practical 
and too busy to sympathize with such nonsense. 
But the talk which he had with little Pedro after 
we left the two of them together caused Harry a 
sleepless night, and when morning came he felt 
that he must seek advice, for he had learned some- 
thing of a grave nature. And what to do with little 
Pedro, that was another question. Send him home 
to be beaten for his failure, and to have wormed 
out of him what he had told Harry? 

260 


BOY SCOUTS 


261 


“ Pedro/’ he said, you mustn’t go home, but 
you can’t stay here alone, and I must go to work. 
Here are some pennies and things. Go over to 
Panama and see the moving pictures. Don’t go 
near Colon. Stay by yourself all day and to-night 
come back here. If you can take care of yourself 
to-day, I’ll see that no harm comes to you. Don’t 
go near Colon — remember. If you saw Zamora or 
your grandfather, you’d have to lie to them, and 
we’re going to get through this business without 
telling any more lies.” 

There was not much danger of Pedro’s being dis- 
covered. He had lurked in the byways and looked 
after himself too long for that. When he was gone, 
Harry determined that he would tell Mr. Barney 
what he had learned. Then he changed his mind 
and resolved to go straight to Colonel Goethals. 
Then he changed his mind again — the American 
minister would be the one to see. Then it occurred 
to him that the President of the Panama Republic 
would be the proper person. Then he decided that 
he would go straight down to 82 ” — and then — 
then he sat down and did what he might have known 
from the first he would do. 

Dear Mr. Conne: 

You have got to come to my rescue; don’t laugh, 
this is a serious matter. I know you will say the 
plot grows thinner, but you are right about Zamora. 


262 


BOY SCOUTS 


Last night he and Requelme sent a little boy, Re- 
quelme’s grandson, to my room. They had sent 
that invitation — to get me away. He was to put 
poison in my Q. bottle — and he did. I caught him 
here in my room and he turned out to be — but 
never mind that. I’ll tell you later. 

What do you suppose they were afraid of? Of 
my understanding the Spanish the parrot talked. 
You know, Zamora lately came back from the 
States and up there he was getting people inter- 
ested in a filibustering expedition to Panama. 
He and Requelme had been planning it for a 
couple of years — an insurrection — here on the 
Isthmus. 

Little Pedro has translated some of the things I 
told him the parrot had been saying, and it’s no 
wonder they wanted him back and are willing to 
kill me now. 

When Zamora landed he was wild because Re- 
quelme had sold the parrot; called him a fool. 
Then they came here — you remember. Pedro caved 
in and told me about the insurrection and all. I 
found out something about Vasco’s early history 
too. It seems when Requelme was young he was a 
sailor and he and a comrade went to hunt for gold. 
Requelme came back and settled in Colon and 
brought this parrot with him. He had chunks of 
gold — you can laugh, but he did. His comrade 
never came back. Oh, and there’s another thing. 


AT PANAMA 


263 

too, but it may be only a coincidence. The little 
boy had an old dagger with the initials F. B. cut in 
the handle — same initials I saw on the old sea-wall 
at Pan. Anyway, Requelme was an eighty- two — 
I mean a ’forty-niner. I’m all mixed up this morn- 
ing. I’ve got to hurry down to eighty-two now. If 
you possibly can, come and see me to-night. I don’t 
like to be carting little Pedro over to Pan. I want 
to keep him under cover. 

In great haste, 

Harry. 

Having despatched this rather disjointed epistle, 
Harry hurried down to the Cut. “ 82,” in her lum- 
bering progress, had now reached a point near Cule- 
bra, and his path lay through a little cluster of 
houses somewhat apart from the village. As he 
went zigzagging down the embankment, the head 
of Mike appeared from behind the shovel. 

“ We’re burrit aloive ! ” he shouted. 

Then Harry saw that one of ‘‘ 82’s ” trucks was 
off the track. Against the near side of the shovel, 
rock and soil lay in a great, confused mass and this 
the men had set themselves to clear away. A few 
yards behind “ 82,” along the path she had traveled, 
was a miniature mountain of rock and soil and de- 
bris, through which twisted tracks appeared here and 
there, like tangled wires on an ash-heap. The cor- 
ner of a dirt-car, which must have been standing on 


264 


BOY SCOUTS 


end, projected out of the mass, and near this, to 
Harry’s horror, a pair of boots protruded. 

That’s only Arnold,” called George, the crane- 
man ; “ we’ll dig him out when there’s time. He 
isn’t much use, anyway.” 

Mr. Barney, coming around the corner of ‘‘ 82,” 
glanced at the ominous spectacle, chuckled and went 
on with his work. Harry pulled his boots out of 
the heap. 

‘Ht’s good 82 wasn’t here, isn’t it?” he said. 

Yes, we’re in great luck,” said Barney, ironi- 
cally, as he helped the men to lift a rail. We’ve 
got our work to-day cut out for us. Suppose you 
haul those ties forward.” 

He indicated the ties as he mopped his forehead 
and was hard at work again. 

82 ” had, indeed, reached the perilous region of 
slides. There were slides all along the Cut, to be 
sure, but here where the ditch ran between the high- 
est hills was where these glacier-like movements of 
the surface earth were most continuous and menac- 
ing. Other shovels besides '' 82 ” were here to 
clear away this mass which had slid down the em- 
bankment, and the larger number of men congre- 
gated in this one spot made the hard day’s work 
pleasanter. 

Harry went home at night dog-tired. He almost 
fell asleep at mess. When he reached quarters, he 
found an envelope from the office. Here were the 


AT PANAMA 


265 


further orders at last, he thought. But it proved to 
be simply a slip announcing that his hard-earned 
leave of absence was scheduled for the last six 
weeks of the year. On the back of the slip were 
printed a few words recommending those on leave 
to visit the States or, in any event, to leave the Isth- 
mus in order to get the physical benefit of change of 
scene and climate. 

Little Pedro soon appeared, grimy but faithful, 
and a little later, just as Harry was giving up hope, 
he saw the dazzling glare of two acetylene lights in 
front of the doorway, and the dim outline of a 
touring-car behind them. Presently, George and 
Andy Breen entered, followed by Mr. Conne, his 
manner provokingly easy and amused, his hands 
deep in his trousers pockets. 

“ H’lo, Harry boy; so you’ve a job-lot of insur- 
rections and things you want me to look over ? And 
this is Pedro, hey? Hel-lo, Vasco,” he added, pok- 
ing his finger in the cage, “ how’s the world using 
you? Regular meeting of the clans, hey, Harry? ” 

“ I’d almost given you up,” said Harry. 

‘‘ Well, we’re lucky to get here at all; came along 
a road that ran right into Culebra Cut; five yards 
more and we’d have done a loop-the-loop into the 
Cut — wasn’t even a lantern hanging. Well, Harry, 
what’s up ? ” 

Harry opened the cage-door and let Vasco out. 
The bird stood in the doorway, peering curiously at 


266 


BOY SCOUTS 


the visitors, then clambered up on top of the cage 
and greeted them with a long, well-modulated 
“ Br-r-r-r-r/' shook his feathers and settled himself 
comfortably as if ready for the conference. 

Harry walked over to the cage and gently 
stroking Vasco’s head, said encouragingly, '' Seis, 
seis — 

Seis dent os fusiles/’ said Vasco Nunez. 

“ That’s a good Cap,” said Harry, persuasively, 
primer a — ” 

Primer amente la Espada, despnes V otos/' the 
parrot shrieked at the top of his voice. 

“ Did you hear that ? ” Harry asked, turning to 
his guests. ' First the sword, then the ballot,’ that 
means.” 

What was the other? ” asked Mr. Conne. 

‘ Six hundred guns,’ ” Harry answered. 
“ That’s what Zamora went to the States for^ hey, 
Cap? Vaya vd. — You say it, Pedro.” 

Vaya vd. sacarlos de los Estados/' said Pedro. 

And Vasco repeated it. He did more, for he 
shrieked, ''El momenta oportuno ha llegado de 
golpear.” 

“ That’s it,” said Harry, stroking him gently. 
“ ‘ Now’s the time to strike ’ — wasn’t it, Pedro ? ” 

“ Yas — yas,” said Pedro. They strike plenty 
soon now — soon as gun come. Zamora, he go back 
to—” 

" Callese la hoca!^' the parrot yelled at Pedro. 


AT PANAMA 267 

He no like me/’ laughed Pedro, he tell me 
shut up ! ” 

‘‘ That’s very impolite, Vasco,” said Mr. Conne. 
‘‘ Pedro, how long have they been planning this 
little game? ” 

“ Year — near two year.” 

Humph.” 

It was from Pedro that Mr. Conne and the boys 
heard, more in detail, the astounding plan which 
Reqyelme and Zamora had for three years been de- 
veloping in hopes of getting the Panamanian gov- 
ernment into their own hands. Zamora, it appeared, 
was no ordinary man, but a very extraordinary and 
ambitious villain. Requelme was his tool. And in 
Panama City, so little Pedro said, was a group of 
active revolutionists who were ready to rally to the 
banner of Zamora when he gave the word. He had 
been in the United States, it seemed, arranging for 
the surreptitious shipment of arms and ammunition, 
and these were being forwarded by his American 
friends. But with all his shrewdness he had talked 
freely with Requelme and others in the presence of 
the insignificant listener whose chatterings had at 
last betrayed him. 

Mr. Conne was highly amused at all this, for he 
said treachery and revolution were the natural oc- 
cupations of Spaniards, but he listened attentively 
and seemed to be rather more interested in little 
Pedro himself than in his plotting elders. 


268 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Well, this was a great discovery,” he finally 
said ; “ this little fellow, I mean ; he’s as good as 
six or eight insurrections.” 

But little Pedro was not to carry off the laurels 
of that evening — very far from it. Harry always 
claimed that it was downright jealousy of Pedro 
which caused Vasco Nunez, in a fit of desperation, 
to play his trump card. He saw little Pedro unfold- 
ing an interesting tale to the group; he knew that 
it was the translation of his talk which had opened 
the way to friends and glory for Pedro, and he sat 
on top of his cage with an air of superior dignity, 
grinding his bill and talking to himself in an injured 
undertone. Once or twice, he sought to attract at- 
tention by a sentence from his revolutionary Span- 
ish program, but Pedro had the floor. Once he 
tried to divert Harry with a highly superior, patent 
trill, used only on special occasions; once he called, 
“ Kid, oh you Kid ! ” and once he leaned far over 
and called him “ Harry.” Finally, he could stand it 
no longer and settling himself comfortably and be- 
ginning to preen his feathers as if it did not make 
the slightest difference to him whether they listened 
or not, he observed, in a low, offhand tone, 

“ Under Balboa’s tree — poor Fred — poor Fred — 
lots of gold — bags of gold — under Balboa’s tree — 
gold, gold, gold, gold, gold! Bury it — he’ll never 
get it. Poor Fred — B-r-r-r-r-r.” 

And he fell busily to scraping one of his claws 


AT PANAMA 269 

with his bill as if he were not open for any further 
discussion. 

Mr. Conne had listened attentively. So had Andy 
Breen and George Warren. Harry’s delight was 
undisguised. 

Vasco Nunez had made a sensation. 

And he was not going to spoil the sensation by 
talking about it. In vain Harry coaxed him with ba- 
nana, with chocolate, and cocoanut, to say more. He 
ate the banana, the chocolate, and the cocoanut, but 
not one syllable would he add to what he had said. 
Harry turned on the faucet, for the sound of run- 
ning water often made the bird quite talkative; but 
it failed this time. 

So they fell to asking little Pedro about Vasco’s 
mysterious past. But what little he knew, he had 
already told Harry, so there was nothing on which 
to base speculation except such remarks as Vasco 
Nunez might condescend to make and the initials, 
F. B., carved on the handle of the old dagger. Not 
unlikely those were the initials of the mysterious 
“ Fred ” whom Vasco mentioned. 

Whatever Mr. Conne actually thought of the 
chances of discovering either treasure or a secret, he 
was quite willing to let their trip into the Balboa 
country include a visit to the ancient tree from 
which the original Vasco Nunez de Balboa first 
gazed upon the distant Pacific. 

But it was a strange fact, which Harry often 


2/0 


BOY SCOUTS 


thought of afterward, that before he visited the 
scene of Balboa’s great discovery, he was destined 
first to visit, under stranger circumstances and on a 
graver business, the distant island of Hispaniola ^ 
from which that hardy warrior embarked. 


^Now called Haiti. 


CHAPTER XV 


FOR THE SAKE OF THE BOSS 

When the visitors left, they took little Pedro 
with them. ‘‘If anybody inquires for him,’’ said 
Mr. Conne, as he cranked the motor, “ just say he’s 
over at the Tivoli.” 

That was all he said, and Harry felt that the little 
fellow was in good hands. What Mr. Conne would 
do about the insurrectionary plot, he had not the 
slightest idea, but he was only too willing to leave 
it to him, for he believed Mr. Conne was the only 
man he knew capable of dealing with Zamora. 

What Harry thought of now was his coming vaca- 
tion with these delightful friends. The mystery of 
Balboa’s Tree, which they were to investigate, gave 
the trip fresh interest. He had worked on the Canal 
for a year with hardly a thought of his vacation, 
although every arrival of the government steamers 
brought back some employees from their visits 
home. Tom Bonney had been to the States and re- 
turned with glowing accounts of his visit there. 

But through all that hard first year Harry’s mind 
had been fixed upon the medal. He thought of that 
so much and talked of it so much that his friends 
271 


272 


BOY SCOUTS 


made fun of him and told him the awarding of the 
medals had been discontinued, and so on. Often he 
would wander through the big Administration Build- 
ing and gaze at the two medals there displayed un- 
der glass on their plush cushion, and read again 
(though he knew it by heart) the conditions on 
which one was to be had. One side of the medal 
showed a profile of Theodore Roosevelt,^ and the 
other a view of the great Cut with a mammoth ves- 
sel sailing majestically through it, and the sun rising 
beyond one of its mountainous embankments. 
Amid its spreading rays were the words. The land 
divided, the world united, while around one edge 
was lettered. Presented by the President of the 
United States, and around the edge of the opposite 
side. For two years* continuous service on the 
Panama Canal. 

Harry often saw the medal in his mind’s eye, and 
now as he stood alone on the doorstep of his quar- 
ters after the auto had departed, he thought how he 
had helped, in a small way, to divide the land and 
unite the world! 

It had been a hard year; a year of unceasing, 
grinding toil, of weary nights; and now at the end 
of it he was to have a few play-days and was to 
spend them in the old historic Balboa country in 
quest of adventure. He had not forgotten his love 
of adventure, his summer camping, his canoeing and 

1 President when the medals were proposed, and at whose instigratlon 
the plan was adopted. 


AT PANAMA 


273 


tramps through the woodland in his far-away home ; 
and the more he thought of the coming trip the more 
he looked forward to it and longed to go. It would 
be his only chance to press far into the jungle and 
hew his way out with a machette. And what com- 
panions! He should enjoy every minute with the 
jolly trio, he knew, and come back refreshed and in- 
vigorated and ready for his last year under his 
grand old boss. 

Harry was a peculiar boy. He had a way of go- 
ing off by himself at times; a little of a dreamer, I 
dare say, and occasionally, in this strange, tropic 
clime, he would fall to thinking about Oakwood, and 
wonder what the scouts at home were doing; about 
the Danforths and Marjorie; and then, sometimes, 
he would fall to wishing that some good genie would 
transport his young friend, Gordon Lord, to the 
Isthmus. How Gordon would enthuse over an 
actual quest, far into the tropical jungle, after buried 
treasure. That was right in his line. Whenever 
Harry fell into these reveries it somehow put him in 
the spirit to write to his mother, who with his father 
and sister was now in Italy. 

So now he turned to go upstairs, intending before 
he went to bed to write her what she called a nice, 
long letter,” and tell her that one year of his work 
on the Canal being near its end, he stood at the half- 
way point where Uncle Sam shooed his helpers out 
for a little foreign recreation, and about the trip 


BOY SCOUTS 


274 

which he was to take into the Balboa country with 
Mr. Conne. 

He had scarcely ascended the first stair when he 
heard voices, and turning he saw several people 
rush past with lanterns. Returning to the doorway, 
he saw other groups hurrying along, some with lan- 
terns, some half dressed, all excited and talking con- 
fusedly. 

What’s the matter? ” Harry asked. 

Slide ! ” some runner panted out, as he hurried 
by. 

Harry followed to the point where he had lately 
descended into the Cut. Here was a straggling 
crowd, twenty or thirty yards back from a ragged, 
precipitous embankment, and men were about urg- 
ing the people to retreat still farther. This was the 
very spot where Harry usually descended. But 
where was the house which had always stood there ? 
Then it came jumping into his head what Mr. Conne 
had said about the road that ended nowhere, and 
how they had all but shot off into space. He stood 
amazed at what he saw, and it took him a minute to 
get his bearings. The face of the familiar scene had 
changed. Houses which had stood several hundred 
feet away from the Cut were now almost on the 
brink of it. The little outlying road the workers 
used and which they called Precipice Lane, was no 
longer there. He could not accustom himself to the 
scene, and for a moment it seemed as if Uncle Sam 


AT PANAMA 


275 

must have conjured up a village all in an hour on the 
dizzy brink of this great canon. 

He edged his way to a young fellow he knew. 

“ How long has it been going on? ” he asked. 

Oh, she's been sliding all evening ; there was a 
big cave-in about nine, I understand, about ten feet 
in from the bank. She didn’t crack away here till 
half an hour ago.” 

Going as close to the edge as he dared, Harry 
peered down into the darkness. In the dim light the 
earth seemed to be moving downward like a great 
sluggish waterfall, beneath and away from the 
clearly defined ragged edge on which he was stand- 
ing. 

Come back from there ! ” some one called. 
‘‘ Are you crazy ? ” 

He was just about to follow this frantic but sensi- 
ble advice when he fancied he heard voices far 
away, down in the abysmal depth of the Cut. He 
thought some one called and some one else answered. 
The sounds were strangely like voices heard across 
a stretch of water. Then, far down in the darkness, 
he saw a tiny light appear, move a little way, and 
then disappear. 

Others, noting his hardihood or his rashness, ven- 
tured cautiously nearer to the brink, but none so 
near as he. He had not gone so far with any clear 
intention more than to see, if he could, how it looked 
below. But now the voices, detached and far away 


BOY SCOUTS 


276 

as if they were of another world, and the tiny light 
moving mysteriously, held him in a spell. Between 
the precarious height where he stood and those dis- 
tant ghostly tokens of human life, rolled this earthen 
ocean, down, down, till he could see it no more. 

A sudden terror seized him, then apparently some 
frantic thought of an expedient, for he rushed along 
the treacherous brink until a man among the crowd 
called him a fool and asked him in a thunderous 
voice if he wanted to kill himself. The speaker, in 
very desperation, started forward to haul him back, 
and venturing cautiously, had almost reached him, 
when there interposed between the two the awful 
hand of Nature. Back a yard or so from where the 
boy stood there suddenly appeared an open gap be- 
tween him and his would-be rescuer. It yawned 
wider, wider, until the narrow margin on which he 
stood trembled, swayed, crumbled, and gave way, 
leaving the terror-stricken man upon the very brink 
of the newer precipice. Shuddering, the crowd 
pressed back with exclamations of horror. 

For a dreadful moment, Harry was engulfed, 
choking and suffocated; then he breathed the fresh 
air and his wits came to him. His forehead was 
throbbing and bleeding and his head swam. In 
his stunned, half-conscious state he kept saying over 
and over again, Going home — going home — I’m 
going home,” as the scattering mass bore him down. 
Perhaps it was because he had been thinking of his 


AT PANAMA 


277 


mother just a little while before, or maybe in his 
half-delirium he did indeed think of Culebra Cut as 
his home, where he had worked so long and hard 
and faithfully. 

He grasped at a patch of vegetation which held 
him a moment, then gave way and he was thrust 
against a rock at which he clutched. His forehead 
was bleeding freely, the blood and soil forming a 
mud which blinded him and made his eyes sting 
cruelly. The impact with the rock stunned him 
anew, and as he clung, dazed but frantically, to it 
he seemed to see the sun rising over the Cut’s em- 
bankment as it did upon the face of the medal. 

Voices were calling from above, but he could not 
answer. Presently he realized that he should be 
above the rock instead of hanging from it, for it 
would crush his life out if it broke away. Painfully 
he dragged himself up against the swift current of 
descending earth, gaining such uncertain safety as 
the upper side of the rock afforded, but he was soon 
half buried in the sliding debris which collected 
there. 

He was fully conscious now and realized the 
peril he was in. If another rock from above should 
fall against this one, he would be ground between 
the two. Yet it would be equally perilous to venture 
out on the sliding mass, for below at the base of the 
embankment lay the jagged rocks which had been 
broken off by the blasting. His position, with fresh 


BOY SCOUTS 


278 

debris engulfing him as fast as he could extricate 
himself, was indeed one of extreme peril. 

Below in the Cut he could now distinguish more 
lights which moved about as if a desperate effort 
were being made to rescue the machinery which 
lay there. Panting, half-consciously, he said “ 82 ” 
to himself again and again; then he tried to call 
aloud, but his voice failed him. 

Close to one of the distant lights he thought he 
saw a dark, thin line which seemed to extend up the 
embankment toward him for a short way and then 
disappear. At first he fancied it was only a freakish 
vision of his dazed and throbbing head, but the line 
persisted and as he gazed he could see that it ex- 
tended toward him, now well above the surface of 
the moving debris, now passing through it. Then 
above him he was aware of a great mass of earth 
descending, through the scattering particles of 
which was visible a large black bulk. Sliding from 
the rock which held him he tried by the motions of 
swimming to counteract the sliding earth and reach 
the black line which was still discernible a few yards 
away. Even as he strove, like a drowning man, 
against the earthen tide, he heard the down-coming 
rock crash against his late refuge and both went 
bouldering past him into the darkness below. 

Trembling, for fear the black line were but a vis- 
ion of his dazed senses, he reached it at length and 
clutching at it, found that it was real! It was, in 


AT PANAMA 


279 


fact, one of the compressed-air tubes which con- 
nected the drills in the bottom of the Cut with the 
main which ran along the brink. Though it was sub- 
merged in places, he was still able, by dexterously 
regaining his clutch here and there, to control his 
descent to a point where the pipe disappeared amid a 
confused mass of rock and soil at the base of the em- 
bankment. 

Over this he clambered and limped along the bot- 
tom of the Cut among hurrying figures who were 
struggling by a score of ingenious makeshifts to re- 
move or protect the excavating paraphernalia already 
half engulfed. A little farther along he recognized 
the familiar stack of old 82 ” rising out of a hill 
of earth and stone, like a tombstone to show where 
she lay buried. On an empty dynamite cask near by 
sat Mr. Barney, naked to the waist, with Mike be- 
side him. They had moved 82 ” as far as they 
could from the main body of the slide and now were 
resting. Mr. Barney was panting audibly. Mike, a 
lantern at his feet, was smoking his clay pipe. It 
looked good to Harry in this emergency to see 
them sitting side by side gaining breath after the 
battle. 

Move up and let me sit down,” he panted. 

Arnold ! Where did you come from ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know — up the bank — I’m here, any- 
way. What can I do ? ” 

Mr. Barney, his elbows on his knees and his head 


28 o 


BOY SCOUTS 


buried in his hands, shook his head. Nothing till 
morning,” he said grimly. 

Mike took his pipe from his mouth and looking 
across Mr. Barney’s bowed head, indicated to Harry 
the disappointment, the well-nigh broken spirit, 
which was pathetically apparent in the burly form 
of the shovelman. 

“ Did yer hear phwat the Ould Man wuz tellin’ 
the people oop in the States ? ” 

“ Colonel Goethals ? ” 

“ Thot he’d hev a ship t’rough the Cut nixt year? 
An’ look at this ! Sure, we’ll hev to dig the Cut ahl 
oover agin ! ” 

Harry knew that the “ Old Man ” had but lately 
returned from the States and that his statements 
there, that a ship would pass through the Cut the 
following year, had been widely circulated. Then 
had come the first of the great slides and now this 
monster cave-in. 

“ Did you get your vacation slip, Arnold ? ” 
asked Barney, abstractedly, after some moments of 
silence following Harry’s recital of his strange slide 
down the embankment. 

Yes, I got it.” 

Well, you’d better go over to Cristobal and see 
King to-morrow. Don’t let him send you up on the 
Advance. Go on the Colon, you’ll get a better 
stateroom. There’s a big crowd going and I don’t 
want anything to prevent your getting started. If 


AT PANAMA 


281 


King doesn’t give you a room on deck see Berry, the 
purser. Tell him I said — ” 

“ Don’t, Mr. Barney, please.” 

‘‘ Why, what’s the matter ? ” 

I’m not going on any vacation, Mr. Barney. 
I’m going to stay here and help. Please don’t talk 
about it. I — I don’t want to go away anywhere; 
I want to stay here and help.” 

“ Nonsense,” said Mr. Barney; of course you’re 
going.” 

Mr. Barney,” interrupted Harry, please don’t 
say any more about it. I’ve always obeyed you and 
followed your advice, but now I’m going to have 
my own way. I’m going to spend my vacation on 
82 ; you can like it or not, as you please.” 

Mike reached around Mr. Barney and brought 
his great hand against Harry’s back. Mr. Barney 
said not a word, but lifted his burly arm and rested 
it on the boy’s opposite shoulder. 

Thus they sat together where the grinding labor 
of two solid months had been undone, as it were, 
in the twinkling of an eye. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE MEDAL 

Thus came to an end Harry’s first year on the 
Canal. Despite all entreaties, he spent his vacation 
time on old ‘‘ 82.” He wrote to Mr. Conne explain- 
ing his sudden change of plans and expressing his 
regret that he could not go with them into the 
Balboa country. But, he wrote. Uncle Sam had 
treated him so well that he had inspired this loyal 
spirit. It was because Uncle Sam had been such a 
fine boss that he had now resolved to disobey him 
and refuse point-blank to go on a vacation. The 
letter was written in a gay, boyish vein to conceal 
the disappointment which Harry really felt. But 
it did not fool Mr. Conne at all, and he sent Harry 
a very characteristic reply. 

Dear Harry Boy : — 

I think you’re entirely mistaken. You seem to 
think your Uncle Samuel makes fine boys, but I think 
the fine boys make Uncle Sam. He wouldn’t be 
what he is if it wasn’t for men and boys like your- 
self. You are congratulating yourself on having 
282 


BOY SCOUTS 


283 


such a good uncle, and Fm congratulating your 
uncle on having such good nephews. Fm awfully 
sorry you won’t go with us, though. 

As for the buried treasure, if there’s any there 
(which I doubt) it has been there for fifty years or 
more and it’ll stay there another six months. Don’t 
worry. The boys and I will take a run up into 
Mexico and see the fighting, and we’ll save the 
treasure hunt till next vacation time. That suit 
you? 

Don’t worry about Zamora and his revolution 
either. That won’t amount to anything yet a while, 
if it ever does. 

Good-by if we don’t see you again. Work hard 
and look forward to the end of another year. 

Hastily, 

Carleton Conne. 

P. S. WeVe adopted Pedro and he goes with us 
as private secretary and interpreter. 

Harry plunged into his work with renewed vigor, 
and in the routine of each day’s work and the 
fatigue which followed it Mr. Conne and his party 
and the proposed journey after treasure seemed 
like vague memories of the past. Only Vasco 
Nunez de Balboa remained to recall those adven- 
turous plans for which he had been responsible. 
Now that the project was laid by, he made no 
mystery of Balboa’s tree, but was continually chat- 


284 


BOY SCOUTS 


taring about it, and the gold whose hiding-place it 
marked, and of balanas ” and bananas and “ poor 
Fred.” The bird was good company and a real 
companion to Harry through that toilsome second 
year. 

It was in that year that the most noticeable 
changes began to appear in the work ; changes show- 
ing rapid progress and suggesting the near com- 
pletion of the mighty task. The water was slowly 
rising in the great Gatun Lake, though still held 
back from the Cut by the dike at Gamboa. Scores 
of employees whose quarters had been in the ter- 
ritory now submerged, were distributed among the 
bungalows at Culebra, Empire, and other places 
along the line. Dozens of little thatched shacks 
standing three or four miles back from the line of 
the Canal, where Harry had so often in his Sunday 
rambles stopped and talked with the natives, were 
now deserted, bought by Uncle Sam and their 
former occupants moved off the Zone. 

Day by day, the debris was being cleared from 
the bottom of the cavernous lock chambers, and 
the great emergency dams (safeguards in case the 
stupendous lock gates should give way or refuse 
to work) reared their ugly trestled forms across 
the lock chambers. The mammoth chains (safe- 
guards again, in case the mechanism of the emer- 
gency dams should fail) hung sagging between 
the towering concrete walls, ready to challenge the 


AT PANAMA 285 

prow of the mightiest liner, if all were not well 
for her to pass. 

Throughout that time the slides continued, and 
“ 82 ” was toppled over more than once and some- 
times buried ; but she worked her way indomitably, 
extricating herself from the submerging mass, and 
the great Cut widened and deepened as the weeks 
passed. Through all her varying adventures, 
buried or free, right side up or upside down, 82 
clutched her precious record like grim death, her 
only fault being that she took such huge mouthfuls ; 
but, as Mr. Barney observed, she was not made for 
manners. 

The work in the Cut was coming to an end 
now; there were fewer shovels and fewer tracks and 
trains. Interest centered on the spillway in the 
middle of the great dam, which was being rushed 
to completion; and talk was rife on every hand of 
the Old Man’s ” putting a ship through for an 
experiment before the year was out. Then dredges 
would replace the steam-shovels and the remaining 
excavation would be done in this cheaper and more 
expeditious way. 

Another friend Harry missed during the latter 
part of the year, and that was Jack Holden. Jack 
had often joined them at scout meeting, and Harry 
had visited Camp Otis many times, where he never 
tired of watching the target practice. But Jack had 
been granted a two months’ leave of absence and 


286 


BOY SCOUTS 


was spending it in Jamaica with friends. Harry 
had gone to the steamer with him and had received 
one letter written upon Jack’s arrival at the West 
Indian island. The soldier boy had spoken so 
sincerely at parting that it had increased the good 
opinion of him which had been growing in Harry’s 
mind as the friendship of the two became more 
intimate. He had ceased to be troubled over Jack’s 
disposition to make light of his obligation to Uncle 
Sam. He fancied the young soldier took a certain 
mischievous pleasure in trying to shock him, and 
that he was not really as rash and reckless as he 
wanted Harry to think he was. In any event, though 
Harry missed him, he did not apprehend any weak or 
foolish act on the part of his friend until one day 
he received a letter postmarked Kingston, Jamaica. 
It read : 

Dear Old Harry Boy: — 

I know you for a good friend, so I’ll let you 
into my plans ; but be sure to tear this letter up and 
keep your mouth shut. I’ve got you at a good long 
distance, you old ditch-digger, so you can’t talk me 
into changing my mind. Your uncle and I are 
going to part company — incompatibility of tempera- 
ment, as they say. So if you see any photograph 
of me jumping off the train at Las Cascadas at the 
end of another month, you’ll know it’s not authen- 
tic, for friend Jack isn’t going to come marching 


AT PANAMA 


287 

home again, hurrah! If your old uncle with the 
plug hat wants to start a game of hide-and-seek 
with me, let him do it. He’ll have a good run. 
But honestly, old man, I wish I could see you some 
more, and that we could stay friends. I like you 
about as well as any fellow I ever met. You’re so 
blamed good it’s contagious. Even I caught some 
of it, and that’s all that’s kept me from doing this 
sooner. To see you plugging away for that old 
piece of junk to hang round your neck, is as good 
as a circus. 

But, honestly, Harry, old boy, I hope you get 
it — you’ve sure earned it. I’ve seen a lot of West 
Point boys, lieutenants and such (I’ve been saluting 
them for two years and I’m sick of it), and there’s 
not one of ’em that’s got the stuff in him that you 
have, and you can take that three times a day after 
meals from your true friend. 

I’m hanging out here at the Sailors’ refuge, for I 
don’t need to be among the missing till near the 
first of the month. Then for my mysterious dis- 
appearance. But you’ll hear from me again, Harry, 
when the old gent gets tired of the game. 

I wish I had a job like yours, or that you and I 
could work together. You’ll hear from me from 
Whitville, Missouri, some day in the sweet by- 
and-by, and I’ll have you out to go fishing on the 
Mississippi. So good luck to you and so long until 
then. Harry, don’t get sore on me, now. I’m not 


288 


BOY SCOUTS 


so bad, only I couldn’t stand the game — guess I 
wasn’t born for a harness. 

But, old man, if I thought there was any chance 
of your missing that piece of junk and I could help 
you to get it, I’d beat it back to little old Panama, 
just as sure as my name’s 

Jack Holden. 

A piece of junk! Yes, that is all it was, if you 
looked at it in that way. Just a worthless bit of 
metal taken from the antiquated French machinery, 
lying disused and overgrown along the old discarded 
canal which the French had started and which had 
ended in failure and disaster. 

Just a bit of junk. 

And for this Harry had slaved for nearly two 
years. Strange it should have such a value to him. 
Yet he set greater store by it — yes, than by any- 
thing he possessed. He had said that to himself 
many times — than anything he possessed! 

Than friendship? 

Than generosity? 

Than character? 

Perhaps he had never taken a full inventory of 
his possessions. Could the medal of which he had 
thought and dreamed and for which he had striven 
so long and faithfully — could this have a rival? 

Was it, indeed, nothing but a piece of junk? 

You will have to decide that for yourself, Harry. 


CHAPTER XVII 


GORDON LORD FINDS A WAY 

All through that day Harry was haunted by 
thoughts of Jack, and at night, weary though he 
was, he could not sleep. The reckless tone of the 
letter, setting danger at defiance and belittling the 
chance of capture, did not deceive him, and he re- 
membered what Mr. Barney had said that evening 
of the first scout meeting: that Uncle Sam would 
not fail to trace and ferret out a deserter and bring 
him back to certain disgrace and punishment. He 
could not bear to think of Uncle Sam in such a role. 
In vain he tried to console himself with the reflection 
that the deserter knows what to expect and deserves 
his punishment. Thoughts of Jack’s mother and 
sister kept forcing themselves upon his mind. 

He worked the next day with desperate energy, 
trying to forget the letter; but he could not. It 
haunted him so that when evening came the strain 
of it told upon him more than his work and he was 
little better than a wreck when he threw himself into 
his chair and gave himself up to thinking of Jack 
Holden and his almost certain fate. 

All day long there had persisted in his mind one 
289 


290 


BOY SCOUTS 


thought which he had tried to banish. And now it 
came again. He knew that nothing he could write 
would influence Jack. But might he not go to 
Jamaica and bring him hack? There was time 
enough — one solid month. And Uncle Sam owed 
him six weeks, too. But Uncle Sam’s ways were 
slow and complicated, and by the time a formal leave 
could work around to him this last fatal month of 
Jack Holden’s freedom would have passed and Jack 
would be a fugitive. 

Harry had always thought that his first and high- 
est duty was loyalty to those who employed him. 
That was the gospel he had preached to Mike. 

Well, an’ how aboot his frind?” Mike had said; 
though Mike, after all, had been loyal. But that was 
a question between loyalty and treachery. This was 
different. 

It seemed to Harry that two duties confronted 
him, and he did not know which was the higher. 
How should he judge? The scout way, he thought 
at last, would be to choose the most unselfish way, 
the way which left himself most out of consider- 
ation and which most increased the welfare and 
happiness of others. 

As he sat thinking the medal seemed to melt away 
before his eyes and resolve itself, indeed, into a 
piece of junk. In its place there rose before him the 
familiar words of the good scout maxim, — that a 
good turn is indestructible, that it persists and lives 


AT PANAMA 


291 


forever with an influence always for the good. Had 
not his own good turn, his reckless act in saving 
little Pedro, come to his rescue in a moment of peril ? 

After all, he ruminated, he would be the principal 
sufferer if he went away, for he would forfeit the 
medal ; but if he tore up this letter and forgot Jack 
Holden, then not only Jack himself but his mother 
and sister up there in Whitville, Missouri, would 
suffer for his selfishness. Perhaps it would leave 
them in want, certainly in shame. 

The longer he thought about it, the stronger be- 
came the conviction in his mind that the imprison- 
ment of one person and the shame and sorrow and, 
perhaps, privation of two others were a very high 
price to pay for a piece of junk. 

Yet, he wanted that piece of junk; oh, how much 
he wanted it! 

He wished he could shift this whole perplexing 
question to another’s shoulders. He wondered what 
Mr. Conne would say, or Colonel Goethals. He 
knew very well what Mr. Barney would think about 
it, for he made no allowance for weakness and all 
the sadness and sorrow it might lead to. He knew 
what Mrs. Barney would say. She would settle the 
matter very easily by following the direction of her 
own sweet, noble instinct. 

Out of the two frames on the mantel looked down 
the faces of Washington and Lincoln, and the sad 
eyes of the martyred President were looking straight 


292 


BOY SCOUTS 


at Harry. He wondered what Lincoln would do in 
such a case, or Washington. But they could not ad- 
vise him; they just looked at him steadily and 
soberly as if waiting to know what he would do. 

Then his eyes fell on the picture of Marjorie 
Danforth which stood on his dresser, and he smiled 
a little as he thought how she had begged him not to 
be a what-do-you-call-it.” What would she say 
now if she knew of his trouble? 

He buried his head in his hands and thought, and 
when he had sat so for several minutes he sat up and 
pounded the arm of his Morris chair with a resolute 
bang. 

“ I won’t be a quitter for anybody that lives,” he 
said, and with a fine show of determination he 
started to undress. 

But instead of undressing he put on his cap 
and creeping quietly down the stairs, stole out and 
down the embankment into the great, dark, silent 
Cut. 

How still it was! There were the steam-shovels 
standing, black and grim, beside the precipice; the 
empty dirt-trains, and the deserted drills. No soul 
was about. Here was the scene of nearly two years’ 
toil for him, where every day of honest, sweating, 
grinding labor had helped to hew this mighty canon 
out of the everlasting hills and rock, and had 
brought him nearer to the coveted medal. 

He made his way along through the darkness till 


AT PANAMA 


293 


he came to “ 82,” the canvas tarpaulin thrown over 
her crane, just as Mike had left her. He sat down 
on the edge of the great dipper between two of its 
huge steel teeth, and looked about him at the work 
in which he had borne a part. He had come to have 
a profound respect for all this powerful machinery ; 
his boyish imagination had made it seem human, 
just as he had come to think of Uncle Sam as a real 
live personage — his boss. But now it occurred to 
him that all these resistless, indomitable machines 
had never any perplexing questions to settle; that 
they just did their work coldly, heartlessly, with a 
kind of blind power. After all, that was easier than 
to have to decide such a question as confronted him. 

He thought of the honor he had almost won. 
Then he thought of the wretched soldier, and of the 
doom which was almost certain to overtake him, 
soon or late. He could save Jack from it. 

As he looked at the vast excavation all about him 
and at the machinery which had done the great 
work, at the powerful steel drill which went straight 
through its allotted task, heedless of obstacles and 
obstructions, he realized that after all there is noth- 
ing so powerful, so splendid, as character; that the 
mightiest machines are but pigmies compared with 
it. To think out for himself and without consider- 
ing himself, what was right and generous and noble, 
and then to go straight to his end, just as the re- 
lentless steam drill went straight to its end, that was 


294 


BOY SCOUTS 


the determination which came to him as he sat there 
alone in the darkness. 

Then he thought of what Mr. Conne had written; 
that Uncle Sam is what we make him, nothing 
more. 

And if that medal,” he said aloud, his voice 
trembling, “ if that medal comes to me through sor- 
row and trouble which I might have prevented, then 
it is nothing but a piece of junk — and — and — ” his 
voice broke, “ I don’t want it.” 

The next morning Tom Bonney found a note un- 
der his door asking him to turn Vasco Nunez over 
to Mike Kerrigan, and Mike received a note asking 
him to take care of the bird until Harry returned. 

In Cristobal, before boarding the fruit liner for 
Kingston, Harry called at the post office and re- 
ceived a letter which he did not open until the Isth- 
mus had faded from his view and the ship was plow- 
ing her way through the blue waters of the Carib- 
bean. 

Then he read it: 

Dear Harry: — 

I’ve found a way! Don’t ask any questions — I 
haven’t got time to answer them. I’m coming to 
Panama. We’re going down the Mississippi in a 
motor-boat. So now who has another guess ? What 
did I tell you? Even Marjorie Danforth says the 


AT PANAMA 


295 


laugh is on you. She has two cylinders and a re- 
verse gear ( I mean the boat) . And she says by the 
time we get there you’ll just be getting your medal, 
I told her maybe you were a quitter and gave up, and 
she got mad as a — Oh, another thing, my uncle 
had her lengthened to forty feet because the bow 
was too near the stern. 

How are you getting along? I’m starting for St. 
Louis to-night; that’s where my uncle lives — you 
know, the one with two sons. They’re both jolliers, 
but I can handle them. Never fear! 

I got my tennis ball out of the drainpipe all right, 
so that’s another one on you. We’re coming right 
down the river from St. Louis in the footsteps of 
La Salle and De Soto and Huck Finn — I don’t 
mean footsteps, but anyway where they canoed. 
Oh, Harry, won’t it be great? Talk about adven- 
tures ! Harry, it’ll be a lesson to you never to laugh 
at what I say again. Dr. Brent says I won’t have 
much chance to do good turns on the boat except 
to turn the fly-wheel, and Marjorie Danforth said, 
‘‘ Oh, does it fly? ” Harry, aren’t girls crazy? Her 
name is the Scout. My cousins are scouts. One of 
them’s got a birthmark on his neck, but it doesn’t 
show ; the other’s got two examinations to pass be- 
fore he starts — but he’s a nice fellow just the same. 

Good-by, Harry. Whenever I want to make Mar- 
jorie Danforth wild I tell her I guess you gave up 


296 


BOY SCOUTS 


and are in Cuba or Alaska or some other tropical 
place. So you see I was right after all — I’m coming 
to Panama! Excelsior, Eureka, and a few other 
things. You’ll see me in about a month. 

Your chum, 

Gordon Lord (Beaver). 


CHAPTER XVIII 


GORDON ACCEPTS A CHALLENGE 

Gordon always claimed that it was owing di- 
rectly and wholly to a good turn done by himself 
that all the adventures which followed were brought 
about. Being a scout, and a very scoutish scout at 
that, he naturally had a prejudice in favor of good 
turns, and for all I know he may have exaggerated 
their potency. But he maintained that a good turn 
was a safe investment, and it is a fact which 
Red Deer, his scoutmaster, cheerfully admitted, that 
practically all of Gordon’s triumphs and adventures 
could be traced to some little act of kindness or cour- 
tesy or generosity on his part. 

In any event, he was doing a service to Miss 
Bannard, — but let me tell you how it happened. 
Gordon was sitting on the wide veranda of his home 
trying, by way of a novel stunt, to eat an apple with 
one hand in his pocket and a huge catching-mitt on 
the other, when along came Miss Bannard carrying 
a suit-case. So what must Gordon do but carry the 
suit-case down town for her, and on the way he 
offered to bet her two reels and a lead-pencil eraser 
that she couldn’t eat an apple with a catching-mitt 
297 


298 


BOY SCOUTS 


on. Miss Bannard, who was considerably over 
eighty years old, thought she wouldn’t try it. 

While they were in the post office, the postmaster 
called through his little window, “ That you, 
Gordon? ” 

** That’s me,” said Gordon. 

“ I thought you were down at Atlantic City.” 

‘‘ We’re not going till next week,” said Gordon. 

“ Well, here’s a letter I was just going to forward 
to you.” 

Now, Gordon’s argument was this: that if he 
hadn’t carried the suit-case for Miss Bannard, the 
letter would have been forwarded to Atlantic City 
and he wouldn’t have received it in time — but no 
matter; you will be more interested in the letter 
itself. 

Olive Court, 

St. Louis, Mo. 

Dear Gordon : — 

How would you like to go and see the Panama 
Canal? Dad is going down there to get some sta- 
tistics and look around, and Joe and I have per- 
suaded him to take the cruising launch and let us go 
with him. Mother said we’d better write and see if 
you couldn’t go along, and we thought that was a 
cracker- jack idea. It will give Joe and me a chance 
to get square with you for some of the jollying you 
gave us when we were East. If you come, you come 
at your peril — but be sure to come. 


AT PANAMA 


299 


Joe says you better come fully armed, and mother 
says to bring gauze shirts. She says it would be 
good to bring along your birthday-book and I said 
I’d tell you, but don’t bother with it. 

I haven’t got much time to write because I have 
two exams, to pass before going and we’re all busy 
piling things into the Scout. She’s been lengthened 
to forty feet. 

We’re going to have one grand old time, and if 
you think you can stand the strain, start as soon as 
you possibly can. Wire us and we’ll meet you at 
the station. 

Your cousin. 

Will Howell. 

P. S. We dare you to come. 

Now this was not the way to frighten Master 
Gordon Lord. As an adventure, he wouldn’t have 
misseci it ; and as a dare, he would have scorned not 
to accept it. The postscript alone was sufficient to 
decide him. Afraid? Not he! Of that pair of 
jolliers? New Jersey afraid of Missouri? Go? 
Would he! 

He hitched up his stocking as a sort of battle- 
sign, as if he were ready for anything, and started 
up the hill, excitedly reading the letter to Miss 
Bannard. 

Wouldn’t you go?” he asked, as he trudged 
along at her side. 


300 


BOY SCOUTS 


I ? ’^ She smiled. “ Oh, Fm too old,” and then 
she added hesitatingly, and Fm afraid you’re too 
young.” 

There were a few moments of silence as the ex- 
cited boy and the old lady walked up the shaded 
street togeter. They were good friends, these two, 
and were often seen in company. Miss Bannard 
lived alone in a little cottage near the Lords and it 
was rumored in town that she was very poor, but 
she was very respectable and old-fashioned and 
everybody liked her. She had lived in Oakwood 
ever since the time when it was called ‘‘ Carver’s 
Town,” before the railroad was heard of, and 
when,” she would add, smoothing down her ruffled 
lace collar, “ there was no such word as commuter 
Gordon used to mow Miss Bannard’s patch of 
lawn and do many other little things for her, and 
so a sort of comradeship had sprung up between 
them. 

‘‘ Of course,” said Miss Bannard, it would be 
nice to go, but I can never think of a boy going away 
from home, without a shudder. Fve no doubt a 
resourceful boy like yourself will go and have all 
the pleasure that I hope you will have, and come 
back safe and sound, but if you were my boy Fm 
afraid I should not let you go. You see, when I was 
a young girl, many, many years ago, I had a brother 
who went away — and — and — well, I have not seen 
him since. So I have a prejudice against young 


AT PANAMA '301 

boys going away from home/' she added, looking at 
him thoughtfully. 

Gordon was rather uneasy as they passed his own 
beautiful home, standing well back upon its spacious 
lawn, for he had a haunting fear that Miss Bannard 
might stop and communicate this unreasonable prej- 
udice to the susceptible ear of his mother ; but when 
they had safely passed this rock of peril he ventured 
to ask her more about the brother who had gone 
away. 

“ It was many years ago," she said ; ‘‘ he would 
be a very old man if he were living now. Come up 
on the porch and rest a little while. If you really 
go away, I may not see you again for a long time." 

Gordon did not know very much about Miss Ban- 
nard's history. She had lived alone in this little 
cottage ever since he could remember, and he had 
an idea that she was much poorer than she would let 
any one know. He had accidentally discovered that 
his father was in the habit of helping her secretly, 
and his father had forbidden him ever to mention 
the fact to any one. 

He sat down on the neat little vine-covered porch, 
and there she told him what little there was to that 
sad story of long ago. 

“ There were just the four of us," she said, ‘‘ my 
mother and father and myself — and — my brother. 
He was older than you — eighteen — and he had some 
words with my father — and — left home. Dear, 


302 


BOY SCOUTS 


foolish boy, he said he was going to the war and that 
when he came back he would bring a great fortune, 
enough for us two to have a home together and be 
comfortable and happy all our lives. He stood right 
here, leaning against this rail ; it was new then, you 
see how rickety it is now — 

That’s all right,” said Gordon, uncomfortably, 
seeing how affected she was ; I can fix it for you, 
it just needs a brace.” 

“ Well, this is where he said good-by to me, and 
I thought — we all thought — that he would get over 
his anger and be home again before night. We 
never dreamed that he would really go away. But 
the time went on and my mother and father died, 
and I have lived here alone ever since. So you see, 
it is natural for me to shudder when I think of a 
young boy going away so far from home. Come in 
and I will show you his picture,” she added. 

Gordon went in, and she showed him the half of a 
locket in which was the faded picture of a boy. 

The other half of this locket he wore when he went 
away,” she said. It contained my picture.” 

As Gordon stood in the simple, old-fashioned 
little parlor and watched the thin, trembling hand 
which held the locket, the poor little house took on 
a new interest for him and his mind wandered back 
to those old days when on the very porch where he 
had been sitting, the brother and sister had parted, 
never to meet again. 


AT PANAMA 


303 


I — Til come up and say good-by to you, Miss 
Bannard, before I go,” he said; “and — and Til fix 
that rail on the porch, and you can’t tell, you know 
you can’t tell. Miss Bannard, he may have been de- 
layed ; he may come home yet. Anyway,” he added, 
“ ril come back.” 

“ Yes, you must,” said the old lady, gently, “ I’m 
afraid I couldn’t stand another blow.” And she 
brushed back the curly hair from his brown face 
and kissed his forehead. 

Before he left, he did go in and say good-by to 
Miss Bannard, and she gave him a little package 
which she said contained something that he must 
keep to remember her by since they were such 
chums. 

It was not till he was sitting in the train which 
was bearing him westward that he opened the pack- 
age and found it to contain the half of the locket 
which had held the picture of Miss Bannard’s 
brother. But she had taken the picture out and in 
its place had put in one of herself, cut from a photo- 
graph which Gordon himself had taken with his 
Brownie camera. 

His father had given him a new watch that morn- 
ing as a parting gift, and on the fob of this* he fas- 
tened the quaint little golden trinket, opening and 
closing the little gold ring which held it, by a dexter- 
ous use of a brass baggage check. 

“ You can accomplish wonders with a bagigage 


304 


BOY SCOUTS 


check,” said a pleasant old gentleman who sat next 
to him and who had been watching the operation. 

“ It’s nothing compared to a hairpin,” said Gor- 
don. “ You can do anything with a hairpin if you 
know how.” 

Indeed ? ” said the old gentleman, smiling. 


CHAPTER XIX 


DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI 

A TELEGRAM Sent by Mr. Lord announced the 
departure of Gordon from New York, and when he 
alighted from the train in St. Louis his two cousins, 
Will and Joe Howell, were there to take him in 
hand. Joe was fifteen and Will sixteen. Within 
ten minutes of their vociferous greeting, Gordon 
understood that he must be on his guard, for he had 
to deal with two very wideawake scouts, of the true 
western brand of manufacture, and operating on 
their own territory, which, as every general knows, 
is an advantage. 

The Howells lived in one of the pretty residential 
courts not far from Forest Park, and the boys 
boarded an Olive Street car, Gordon’s luggage dis- 
tributed between them. 

We’ll get home in time for supper, all right,” 
said Will. 

‘‘ Oh, sure,” answered Joe; it’s only six now.” 

It’s only five,” said Gordon, consulting his new 
watch. 

You’re an hour slow,” said Will. 

What are you talking about ? ” exclaimed Gor- 
don. '' This watch is brand new — ” 

306 


3o6 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Can’t help that, it’s slow just the same.” 

If they had denounced his idol, Harry Arnold, 
as a thief or a traitor, Gordon could scarcely have 
felt more highly insulted than at this disrespect for 
his new watch. 

You’re crazy! My watch keeps perfect time! ” 
he said. ‘‘ It doesn’t lose a second ! ” 

Will and Joe, unaffected by his excitement, 
glanced coldly at the beautiful, gold-encased Wal- 
tham which their cousin held proudly in his hand. 

That must be just a toy watch,” said Will. 

“ Sure it is,” Joe answered. 

That shows how much you know,” said Gordon. 

I’ll show you where it’s guaranteed ! ” 

Oh, we don’t care anything about that,” said 
Joe. “ I’ll leave it to that man across the car what 
time it is.” 

The man appealed to looked at his own watch 
with an amused smile and announced, ‘‘ Six o’clock.’* 

‘‘ There you are,” said Will. 

What time is it? ” Joe asked the conductor, who 
was passing. 

Six o’clock,” said the conductor, consulting his 
watch. 

“ Why didn’t your father get you a good one 
while he was about it? ” asked Joe, scornfully. 

Oh, I don’t suppose it’s meant really to keep 
time,” said his brother. 

Gordon was nonplussed, hutniliated, silent. After 


AT PANAMA 


307 

a moment, the young man across the car beckoned to 
him. 

You must set your watch for western time, my 
boy, then you’ll be all right. And don’t let them 
jolly you.” 

This was Gordon’s first encounter with his St. 
Louis cousins, and it put him on his guard against 
similar attempts on their part. For instance, they 
told him that their patrol had performed the colossal 
feat of “ hiking all the way to Illinois,” at which he 
expressed his wonder and admiration until he 
learned from Mrs. Howell that a hike ” to Illinois 
consisted of a five-minute walk across the bridge 
from St. Louis. And so it went. 

The three boys were good friends for all that, 
for Gordon was not only a true scout, he was also 

mascot of the Beavers,” and guaranteed not to 
lose his temper under any amount of wholesome 
jollying. 

Mr. Howell was a civil engineer, connected with 
the Bureau of Standards in Washington, and it was 
his business to travel about the country with a 
satchel full of queer-looking instruments with which 
he recorded degrees of strain, tested pressures, and 
did other strange things on bridges, trestles, and 
public works generally, for the purpose of making 
statistics. He was now starting for the Isthmus 
with such work in view, and Will and Joe had tested 
his pressure under persuasion, and subjected his 


BOY SCOUTS 


308 

power of resistance to such a perilous strain that it 
finally gave way and he consented to take the cruis- 
ing launch and let the boys go along. It had always 
been their dream to go all the way down the Missis- 
sippi, and now, with Gordon as one of the party, the 
trip bade fair to be as pleasant an excursion as a 
group of boys could hope to have. 

The morning after Gordon's arrival the three 
went down to “ Shanty-boat Town," the district 
along the river front where all the houseboats are 
moored ; a little city of water craft, indeed, and the 
strangest water craft that Gordon had ever seen. 
He began now to learn something of the great river 
which forms a home to many people who go on land 
only at rare intervals for provisions or repairs. Few 
of these boats had power, most of them being merely 
little shanties, home-made and ramshackle, built 
upon stanch floats; though a few were more preten- 
tious, having muslin window curtains and other sug- 
gestions of home comfort. Some of them were 
fitted up as stores of various kinds, barber shops, 
dry goods stores, drug stores, and some as tiny 
theaters with stage and seats for audience. 

On these boats a goodly population of river peo- 
ple " live and make their livings, floating down the 
great stream, mooring now and then, tarrying here 
and there as trade or fancy or weather suggest, until 
they reach the great gulf, and are then towed back 
by steamers or other power boats going upstream. 


AT PANAMA 


309 


It was a strange, romantic, gipsy life of which 
Gordon here had a glimpse, suggestive of the vast- 
ness of the “ Father of Waters,’’ which has a popu- 
lation of its own, a Bohemian, wandering, care-free 
set, who live and buy and sell, and ply back and 
forth, back and forth, upon its wide, winding, hurry- 
ing expanse, as it flows southward to the sea. 

Among these strange, ramshackle craft, lay Mr. 
Howell’s forty-foot cruising launch. She had a 
hunting-cabin half her length, and her deck aft was 
furnished with a khaki-colored awning with falling 
sides. She had a fat, chubby, clumsy look, as if she 
had been out of training for a long time, but she was 
a good, amiable boat and stood for no end of abuse 
and good-natured banter. Her name was Scout, 
but she was called many things besides her name. 
By lifting a trap in her cabin flooring level with the 
lockers on either side and spreading a mattress over 
the whole, there was room for two to sleep, and two 
more could easily sleep upon a mattress in the can- 
vas cabin aft. 

She had been well stocked with provisions for the 
trip, and to these the boys now added a few addi- 
tional things. They spent the morning cleaning her 
up and cramping her stores into smaller space, and 
late that afternoon Mr. Howell came aboard. At 
five o’clock they were chugging down the great 
river, while Mrs. Howell and her daughter stood on 
the quay waving their handkerchiefs. 


310 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ Isn’t it great ! ” said Gordon. '' We’re follow- 
ing right in the footsteps of La Salle. You know, 
he sailed down this river and explored it — ” 

He never sailed down here,” said Will Howell. 
Of course he did,” vociferated Gordon. '' Any 
history book will tell you that! He did it in six- 
teen — sixteen — something or other — ” 

‘‘ Sixteen minutes, western time? ” suggested Joe. 

“ After walking all the way from Illinois,” added 
Will. 

“ You’re wrong there, Gordon. La Salle never 
sailed down here,” Joe repeated. 

“ La Salle did sail down the Mississippi,” said 
Gordon, conclusively. 

“Oh, maybe he did,” said Will; “that’s differ- 
ent.” 

“How is it different?” demanded Gordon. 
“ Isn’t this the Mississippi ? ” 

“Sure.” 

“ Well, then.” 

“ But La Salle never sailed down here, and you 
can’t sail down where he did either.” 

“ Didn’t La Salle sail down the Mississippi? ” de- 
manded Gordon, again. 

“ Sure.” 

“ And isn’t this the Mississippi ? ” 

“ Sure.” 

Mr. Howell came to Gordon’s rescue. “ This is 
a very peculiar river, my boy. It’s a sort of tramp 


AT PANAMA 


31 1 

river and changes its course every now and then. 
Nearly the whole of the thousand miles which your 
old friend La Salle sailed down is now dry land, 
owing to the fact that the river is four or five miles 
west of its old position. So Pm afraid your old 
Frenchman would have to take an automobile or a 
bicycle if he wanted to go over the same route 
to-day.” 

Gordon subsided. It seems to me everything in 
this world is crazy,” he observed after a few min- 
utes’ silence. Now, you take the sun ; what do you 
think it does down in Panama? It rises out of the 
Pacific instead of the Atlantic. The Atlantic is way 
around west of the Pacific down there. It’s crazy, 
it seems to me.” 

‘‘Of course,” said Joe, “ and you know what 
made it crazy, don’t you? Why, the Mississippi 
being crazy, when the water from it flowed into the 
Atlantic Ocean, it — ” 

“ I guess we’d better have supper now, hadn’t we, 
boys ? ” interrupted Mr. Howell. 


CHAPTER XX 


FRIENDS IN NEED 

We cannot take account of the happenings of each 
day as the Scout moved southward upon the hurry- 
ing current of the great river. It must be confessed 
that the hurrying current did more for her than 
ever she dreamed of doing for herself, but Gordon 
said that her misbehavior was the best part of the 
program; that a delay or an accident was simply 
another name for an adventure; that a gas engine 
which behaved itself was a monotonous thing at 
best, and unnatural besides, like a baby that doesn’t 
cry. 

'‘If it goes all right all the time, that’s a sure 
sign there must be something the matter with it,” he 
said, " just the same as I heard our scoutmaster say 
that the strongest, healthiest people are the ones 
that get seasick; if you’re weak and delicate, you 
don’t get seasick — you’re not well enough to get sick, 
don’t you see? And it’s just the same,” he con- 
cluded, taking a mammoth bite out of the apple he 
was holding, " it’s just the same with a gas engine.” 

Before they were out of the upper river (that is, 
above the point where it converges with the Ohio 
312 


BOY SCOUTS 


313 


about one hundred and fifty miles below St. Louis), 
they had their first adventure, which came very near 
being their last as well. It was what Gordon (who 
was recognized as an adventure expert) defined as 
a hair-breadth escape ” ; “ the kind they have in 
Henty,’' he explained, and he added that on an ex-^ 
pedition hair-breadth escapes were indispensable 
things, “ You have to have them.’’ 

But Mr. Howell protested that they were very 
unnecessary things and swore, by all the nautical 
terms he knew, that he would sell the Scout if they 
were ever so fortunate as to reach New Orleans and 
he could find any one fool enough to buy her. 

The weather had been pleasant and their trip idle 
and delightful, when on the third evening they 
turned the prow of their gallant bark in the direction 
of a little woody island close to the Missouri shore, 
intending to camp there over night. 

“ We’ll be the uninvited guests of old Kentucky,” 
said Mr. Howell, “ and for my part, I shall be glad 
of a chance to stretch myself.” 

Gordon looked at the green, sloping shore far to 
the right, then at the marshy tract which skirted the 
opposite shore. Then he looked searchingly at his 
uncle. Will and Joe winked at each other. 

Isn’t that the Missouri shore over where that 
island is ? ” he asked, feeling his way carefully. 

Oh, yes,” said Mr. Howell, “ but you see Ken- 
tucky’s land sometimes runs away from her. Now, 


3H 


BOY SCOUTS 


when I was a young man that little island used to 
nestle up comfortably right under the wing of its 
mother, Kentucky. Then one fine day old Missis- 
sippi took a freak, shifted her course a few hundred 
yards, and presto, there was Kentucky’s little island 
way over close to Missouri. The people on it didn’t 
know whether they belonged to Kentucky or Mis- 
souri. They finally moved over to the Kentucky 
shore, leaving this runaway island to shift for it- 
self. The courts decided that it was still Kentucky 
land.” 

“ It seems to me — ” began Gordon, but that was 
as far as he got. 

An ominous scraping sound beneath caused them 
all to start. Joe came rolling down off the cabin 
roof into the cockpit as the bow of the Scout rose, 
and Will and Gordon scrambled forward as the 
stern dipped. For a moment all was confusion, and 
Mr. Howell looked apprehensive. From the way 
the boat rocked, her bow and stern plunging alter- 
nately, it was clear that she was balanced amidships 
upon some submerged obstacle. The cockpit was 
half filled with water, which washed forward into 
the cabin and astern again with every see-sawing 
lunge of the boat. They sat upon the after edge of 
the cabin roof about amidships, while below them 
packages of crackers and other edibles came floating 
out of the cabin, cruising frantically about the cock- 
pit and disappearing into the cabin again. 


AT PANAMA 


315 

‘‘ Well, I guess here’s an adventure for you, Gor- 
don,” said his uncle, ruefully. 

Is — is it serious ? ” stammered Gordon. Be- 
cause an adventure is no good unless you live to tell 
it. An adventure when you die or get drowned is 
no good.” 

Maybe she’ll slide off if we all get in the stern,” 
suggested Will. 

No, I’m afraid not. Will,” said his father. 

That would only dip her more and we’d ship too 
much water. Let’s see how deep it is here.” 

They found that it was not deep and that they 
were balanced very nicely upon what seemed to be a 
dead tree-trunk. They tried to swing the boat about 
by pulling and pushing with the boathook, but it 
only made matters worse. She was evidently 
perched directly across it, and the change of her 
position from the right angle caused her to lurch 
ominously. Moreover, there was danger that her 
propeller, or shaft, might be brought into contact 
with the tree and damaged. 

Darkness was coming on rapidly, and it was evi- 
dent, both from the precarious position of the boat 
and from the fact that she was nearly half full of 
water, that they could not remain on her over night. 

'' I’ll get the horn and blow it,” said Gordon, “ and 
maybe some one on shore will hear it.” 

This seemed to be the only thing to do, and Gor- 
don, drenched but laughing, presently emerged from 


BOY SCOUTS 


316 

the cabin and proceeded to blow the horn with such 
gusto that within a few minutes they were rewarded 
by the sight of figures on the land, and then a row- 
boat put out from the shore. It contained a girl of 
about seventeen, who managed her boat with perfect 
ease, bringing it alongside the Scoufs cockpit like 
an experienced seaman. She had evidently laid 
down her household duties to come to them, for she 
wore a gingham apron which completely covered 
her from her neck down. She had merry blue eyes 
and light hair, and was inclined to laugh at their 
predicament, which rather astonished Gordon. 

“ Oh, you’re right on the middle of Coleman’s 
Tree,” she said; isn’t that too silly! And you’ll 
never get off until the men come home ; you’ll have 
to come ashore and stay all night. Do you like 
doughnuts ? ” she added, turning suddenly upon 
Gordon. 

Gordon, panting from his prolonged vocal ef- 
fort, stood gaping at her, the horn dangling at his 
side. 

“ I like turnovers better,” he said. 

Well, you came jolly near to having a turnover, 
I reckon! ” she laughed. ‘‘ Can you get in here? ” 

To tell the^ truth, this was not at all to Gordon’s 
taste. That a party of boys, and a man into the 
bargain, should be rescued by a girl was bad enough, 
but that the girl should laugh at them and make 
light of their adventure was altogether too much. 


AT PANAMA 


317 


Mr. Howell, pleasantly taking further responsi- 
bility from the girl, got the whole party safely into 
the little boat and rowed it ashore. Here she led 
the way to a pleasant little cottage a few yards back 
from the river, in the doorway of which stood a 
woman who welcomed them cordially. 

It appeared that Coleman’s Tree had a bad repu- 
tation in the neighborhood. Their hospitable hos- 
tess would hear of nothing but that they should re- 
main over night, and in the morning, she said, the 
men in the vicinity would help them pull the Scout 
off her precarious pedestal. There was nothing else 
for the luckless voyagers to do; so with many ex- 
pressions of regret for the trouble they were caus- 
ing, Mr. Howell consented, and she showed them to 
a cosy but somewhat bare, little room, where she 
kindled a fire in an old-fashioned air-tight stove. 
Here they dried their clothing and made themselves 
as presentable as possible. 

Well,” said Mr. Howell, holding his coat this 
way and that before the red-hot stove, is this ad- 
venture enough for you, Gordon ? ” 

‘‘ It’s not much of an adventure when a girl res- 
cues you,” said Gordon; that’s the only objection I 
have to it. Girls are made to be rescued — not to 
rescue people. But, of course,” he added, “ she’s a 
fine girl, and if she were a scout she could get the 
bronze medal for that.” 

When they went downstairs the table was crowded 


BOY SCOUTS 


318 

with an abundance of homely fare, and Mrs. Holden 
told them to “ set right down.” 

“ He doesn’t like doughnuts, mother,” said the 
girl. 

Yes, I do,” said Gordon. 

“ You said you didn’t — you said you liked turn- 
overs better.” 

But the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and 
when the simple meal was over the opinion of all 
was that Gordon did like doughnuts. 

After supper the four young people wandered out 
to see the girl’s menagerie, which consisted of a 
family of rabbits, a bantam rooster, and a water- 
trough full of turtles. 

“ Do you like cats ? ” she said. “ I hate cats, but 
I like pollywogs. What’s your name? ” 

“ Gordon isn’t a first name,” she commented, after 
a general exchange of names had been made. “ It’s 
a last name. My name’s Martha, but I hate it. My 
brother’s name is Jack.” 

Oh, have you a brother? ” asked Joe Howell. 

Yes, that was his room you were in. He’s down 
in Panama now.” 

“ Why, that’s where we’re going,” said Gordon. 
'' Does your brother work on the Canal ? ” 

No, he’s in the army. Don’t you think it’s fine 
to be a soldier ? ” 

“ Girls always like soldiers,” said Gordon. 

‘‘ That’s because they’re brave,” said Martha. I 


AT PANAMA 


319 

wonder if you’ll see my brother down there? ” she 
added, a little wistfully. 

Fve got a friend that’s as brave as any soldier,” 
Gordon said. He’s down in Panama, too ; he’s got 
a parrot.” 

“ That shows how brave he is,” said Will Howell. 

“ Silly! ” Martha said. Can he talk? ” 

'' Oh, yes,” said Joe. He’s a smart fellow ; he 
can write, too; he’s head of Gordon’s patrol. We’ve 
been hearing a whole lot about him all the way 
down. Will and I are going to be introduced to him 
if we’re good.” 

“ To the parrot? ” said the girl. 

No, to Gordon’s friend; he’s the champion.” 

“ Champion at what ? ” 

Oh, at everything.” 

Gordon disdained to notice this sarcasm. He’s 
been working on the Canal for nearly two years,” he 
said, and when the two years are up he’s going to 
get a medal from the government.” 

‘‘If he doesn’t flunk,” put in Joe. 

“ He never flunks,” Gordon informed the girl, 
confidentially ; “ and everything he tries to do he al- 
ways succeeds in.” 

As they sauntered on ahead of the cousins whose 
presence he so much dreaded when he talked of 
Harry, they fell to comparing notes about those 
two, the brother and the friend, who in different 
ways were serving Uncle Sam at Panama. Gordon 


320 


BOY SCOUTS 


told her of the wonderful things his friend had done, 
how he had risked his life to save him, Gordon, and 
how — “ Why,” he said, to make the picture more 
vivid, “ he would save your brother’s life just as 
soon as he would mine, and if he tried he’d surely 
succeed, because he always succeeds.” 

'' He must be a hero,” said the girl.. 

He is,” Gordon answered. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE MESSAGE TO OVANDO 

Three days after leaving Colon Harry Arnold 
entered the Sailors’ Refuge in Kingston, the capital 
of the British island of Jamaica, and was told that 
Jack was no longer there. The superintendent, an 
Englishman, was rather curious about his errand, 
which made Harry curious to know what the man 
might know or suspect about Jack. But whatever 
suspicion lurked in his mind, the official gave no hint 
of it, and Harry wandered out into the strange city 
without the faintest clue. Jack had evidently de- 
cided not to wait until the last minute before he 
made his “ mysterious disappearance.” 

Often, in his summer outings with the scouts at 
home, Harry had practiced in wood and field the de- 
lightful art of tracking, and once he had put this 
accomplishment to profitable account in tracing a 
criminal. To him the commonplace footprints of a 
human being spoke a language, and a broken twig or 
bit of ruffled foliage often gave its hint of some 
recent passer-by. The woods, the grassy meadows, 
the winding streams, kept few secrets from him, 
and when he knelt or crouched or stretched him- 
321 


322 


BOY SCOUTS 


self upon the grass, old Mother Earth would usually 
communicate some trifling hint to aid him in his 
quest. 

But that was the art of the Indian and the trap- 
per, of the forest runner. Here, in this populous, 
seething town, were needed the more sordid though 
equally acute arts of the detective. Harry wondered 
what General Sir Baden-Powell would do in his 
place, but the only comfort he got from these reflec- 
tions was the recollection of the General’s laconic 
advice to scouts on trail : “Use your brains — al- 
ways your brains first; then your hands and feet, 
and nose and ears, and every sense you have. But, 
your brains first” 

So Harry said to himself, “ If I were in Jack’s 
place, what should I do ? ” 

He turned about and reentered the Sailors’ Ref- 
uge. “ Excuse me just a minute more,” he said to 
the man at the desk. “ I suppose you know Holden 
is an American soldier. Of course, I don’t suppose 
he wore his uniform here? ” 

“ What is he ? A deserter ? ” asked the man, 
crisply. 

“ No, sir, he is not; he is a soldier on leave.” 

“ Huh ; we thought he was something different 
from what he said. We can usually tell a sailor 
here, and we knew he was no sailor, so we asked him 
to go. I don’t know where he went; if I did. I’d tell 
you. What’s the matter ? Is he in any trouble ? ” 


AT PANAMA 


323 

Harry looked straight at him. He is in the 
Tenth Regiment of Infantry in Panama,” he said, 
“ and he has a leave of absence which expires the 
first of next month; then — ” 

Then he’ll be a deserter, eh? ” finished the man, 
shortly. “ I see.” 

“ No, sir, he will not be a deserter,” said Harry. 

Attracted by his frank, boyish bearing, the man 
swung around in his chair and looked at him sharply. 

You mean you’ve come all the way from Panama 
after him? ” 

Yes, sir.” 

Well, I’d like to help you,” said the man, run- 
ning his hand through his hair, thoughtfully. 

‘‘ Well, then, will you please answer one more 
question? I suppose I might go to the American 
Consul, but I’d rather not. Has the United States a 
treaty with England? Would you send him back if 
he were caught here after his time expired? ” 

“ We certainly would.” 

Is there any place where they wouldn’t send him 
back? ” 

The man thought a moment. 

I wouldn’t have you running off on a wild-goose 
chase because of anything I might tell you,” he said, 
'' but it’s just possible this might give you a clue. 
There’s a fellow down at Morant Point, a negro 
named Capot. He’s quite a character. His business 
is hiding people who are in trouble. He was up here 


3^4 


BOY SCOUTS 


the other day talking with your friend, and that’s 
what made us a little suspicious that maybe the boy 
was a fugitive, or something of that sort, you know. 
Now, don’t base any hopes of finding him on what I 
tell you, and if you take my advice you won’t go 
down Morant way at all. But Capot sometimes 
ships people over to Jeremie in a schooner, where 
they lie low, sometimes go away, and more often get 
robbed and killed.” 

‘‘Jeremie?” queried Harry. 

“ Yes, that’s way up at this end of the Haitian 
peninsula, just across the Windward Passage. I’ve 
heard all kinds of stories about Capot, and I guess 
most of them are true. He used to be Customs In- 
spector at Haiti, and I guess he stole all he ever col- 
lected. If you’re sufficiently interested in your 
friend to go down as far as Morant, why, I don’t 
know as I’d discourage you ; though, of course, there 
may be nothing in their having met here. Morant’s 
only about twenty-five miles, you know. But don’t 
be fool enough to ship over to Haiti, they’re a band 
of cutthroats and cannibals over there; but you 
couldn’t do that, anyway, there are no ships leaving 
Morant except Capot’s schooner, and you couldn’t 
get aboard her.” 

Harry left the office with certain words the man 
had used ringing in his head; “ Haiti,” “ Windward 
Passage.” They brought back to his thoughts that 
first night out of New York on the Ancon, nearly 


AT PANAMA 325 

two years before, when he had sat in the smoking- 
room and listened to the gentlemen talking. 

He made his way to a little shop he had seen, and 
bought a compass. Within an hour he was sitting 
by a Jamaica negro on the high seat of an empty 
fruit wagon, starting for Morant Point. All day 
they journeyed eastward, over hill and through val- 
ley, on the narrow road that wound its way amid 
the glorious foliage and floral wonders of a hundred 
gorgeous hues which crowded in picturesque pro- 
fusion in the beautiful “ garden island.’’ Next day 
the wagon would come back over this same road, 
loaded with fruit for shipment from Spanish Town 
and Kingston. 

“ Yo come back with me?” asked the laughing 
negro. 

“ I don’t know,” said Harry. 

It was night when they reached Morant Point, and 
he inquired about the little village for Capot. Most 
of those he saw were negroes, some of whom ad- 
mitted knowing Capot; others shook their heads. 
The nearest approach to information that he re- 
ceived was that a schooner had been at anchor off 
the point a few days before and had gone away. 
Evidently, those who knew of Capot and his dark 
business did not choose to talk about him with 
strangers. 

Disheartened, he strolled out of the settlement 
and along the rocky shore. It seemed that his quest 


BOY SCOUTS 


326 

was at an end. He took the compass from his 
pocket and tossed it from one hand to the other. I 
wonder what on earth I bought that thing for, any- 
way,” he said to himself. “Crazy thing to do!” 
Then he dropped it, and lighted match after match 
before he found it again. “ The blamed thing’s no 
use,” said he, putting his finger around its edge as 
if to scale it into the ocean. But instead, he put it in 
his pocket, thinking he might possibly find a use for 
it some day. 

He was on the extreme eastern end of Jamaica, 
and the waters of the restless, treacherous Carib- 
bean were breaking against the rugged shore almost 
at his feet. The night was dark and the dashing of 
the breakers had an ominous, ghostly sound. It was 
so lonely and isolated that he looked back now and 
then at the cheering lights of the little settlement of 
Morant Point, beacons to guide him back when he 
should choose to end his lonely stroll. 

“ Well, I’ve done all I could,” he said, kicking a 
stone down into the sea. “If he’s gone, he’s gone — 
that’s all.” 

Then he fell to wondering where he could find a 
bed to sleep in in that squalid negro village, and how 
early he would have to be up in the morning to catch 
one of the fruit wagons back to Kingston. 

“ I’ve done all I could,” he repeated. 

The only sensible thing to do now was to turn 
about and go back to Morant Point, to get a little 


AT PANAMA 


327 

much-needed rest before going back to Kingston and 
then to Panama. 

But he did not turn back, and his thoughts were 
not of Panama. They wandered far away from 
that gorgeous tropic island and desolate sea-swept 
shore, not to the Isthmus, but to a little cottage away 
up the Mississippi River which he saw in his mind’s 
eye. He pictured a mother and daughter, and he 
wondered how old the mother was and what the 
daughter’s name was, and what they would say if 
they knew — 

Then he looked out over the sea of tempests and 
hurricanes and wondered just how far it was to 
Haiti. He thought of the medal; it was just about 
the same size as the compass he was holding in his 
pocket. 

The rocks were now thinning out and a white 
beach was discernible ahead, up which the waters 
rolled gracefully and receded. It was not as threat- 
ening, but quite as lonely and desolate except that a 
little distance ahead, a quarter of a mile, perhaps, a 
light flickered. One of the receding waves caught a 
piece of driftwood, carrying it down and away into 
the bosom of that black, moaning sea. 

It would be easy enough to launch a. boat here,” 
said Harry; “ she’d glide right in just like that piece 
of driftwood.” 

As he wandered aimlessly along the beach, the 
whole western hemisphere seemed to contract and 


BOY SCOUTS 


328 

he fancied that this woman and daughter were on 
one side of him and the son and brother and friend 
on the other side, and he stood between, here on this 
island, holding their happiness in his hand. 

He looked out over the waste of ocean and fancied 
that the roar of the breakers at his feet was the sea 
laughing at his helplessness. 

Well,” he repeated, drawing a long, discouraged 
breath, I’ve done all I could.” 

Now two lights were visible, and as Harry neared 
them he saw a pair of bronze lanterns surmounting 
two granite gate-posts through which he could just 
see a brick mansion standing in a little private park, 
thick with tropical foliage. The gate stood hos- 
pitably open, and he wandered in and up through 
an avenue of cocoanut palms to the house, without 
any definite object, but attracted by the beautiful, 
fragrant grounds. They were thick with tropi- 
cal fruits and flowers, neat gravel walks wound 
among the laden trees, and the air was heavy 
with the scent of blossoms, which mingled pleas- 
antly with the salt air of the sea. It was a 
typical West Indian mansion, of which there are 
a number of fine specimens in this fair British 
island, occupied by the wealthy fruit growers. As 
Harry wandered out of the park again, a metal plate 
on one of the gate-posts caught his attention. On it 
was engraved the word, GRANTLEY. 

“ Mr. Wentworth’s place,” said he, surprised. 


AT PANAMA 


329 

“ Why, this must be Garden Harbor. If it were 
daytime,” he thought, “ I’d go in and see him. I’d 
like to see him again.” As he strolled out toward 
the beach, looking fondly back at the beautiful home 
of the old gentleman he had liked so much, he 
thought of what Mr. Wentworth had said that even- 
ing in the smoking-room of the Ancon: “ If s a 
great thing to find a way. I sometimes think ifs 
better to go on with a good purpose even if you 
knozv it will kill you. Whatever you do, don't give 
up.” 

The words had impressed Harry at the time, and 
now they seemed to burn him like fire, and he be- 
came strangely agitated. He breathed heavily, as he 
retraced his steps to the beach, and seemed ashamed 
or afraid, almost as if he might have robbed the 
place he was leaving. 

As he turned about and looked again at the dark- 
ened windows, the splendid manor house seemed to 
fade away in the night and the incessant murmur of 
the surf hard by to die, and in their place he saw 
again the little cottage on the banks of a wide, 
marshy river. But presently the vision dissolved 
in the darkness and he heard only the roar of the 
breakers against the neighboring rocks. 

Have I — Have I — ” he whispered. 

Confused as he was, he did not see a little gran- 
ite column which rose from the beach just be- 
fore him, until he stumbled over it. Lighting a 


330 BOY SCOUTS 

match, he found upon it a metal plate with this in- 
scription : 


From this spot put to sea in the year 1504, Diego 
Mendez, a common sailor in the service of Christopher 
Columbus, who crossed the Caribbean Sea to the 
western extremity of Haiti (then San Domingo), a 
distance of one hundred and twenty miles, in a canoe, 
to bear the tidings of the Admiral’s shipwreck and 
impending death by famine on this island. 

This tablet is erected by Josiah E. Wentworth as 
a memorial to the faithfulness, hardihood, and splen- 
did courage which prompted him to perform this 
act of heroism from the incentives of loyalty and 
friendship. 


The wind, which had been growing brisker all 
that evening, rose into a gale; and the waves burst 
against the rocks with increasing fury as the night 
advanced. It was the petulant temper of the tropics, 
having its little fit out in the Windward Passage. 
The sea, rolling higher than its wont upon the beach 
at Garden Harbor, washed against the granite 
column erected to the memory of Diego Mendez, 
who had thrown down the gantlet to these same 
breakers four centuries before. 

In the morning a colored maid at Grantley, going 
out to fasten up a vine which had blown down 
during the night, found beneath the door a note 
written in pencil upon the backs of several requisi- 
tion slips of the Isthmian Canal Commission. It 


AT PANAMA 


331 

was addressed to the master of the house, and he 
read it when he came down to breakfast: 

Dear Mr. Wentworth : — 

Maybe you won’t remember me, but my name 
is Harry Arnold and you told me about Mendez on 
the Ancon nearly two years ago. To-night you’ve 
saved me from being a coward, but I hope you 
won’t think I’m a thief. I came to Morant Point to 
find a fellow — a friend of mine — who was going 
to desert his regiment at Panama, and I guess he’s 
gone to Haiti. So I’m going after him. I’m glad 
you said that about never giving up — though I guess 
maybe you don’t remember it. You spoke about 
seeing a thing through even if you know it will kill 
you. And I was going back to Kingston and then 
to Panama because — I wasn’t thinking so much 
about myself, but about my father and mother. 
Jack — my friend — has a mother and sister, so this 
is what I thought of just now before I write this 
on your porch — that my father is rich and his 
mother is poor, so he’s needed more than I am; 
and besides I had started and I’m not going to turn 
back. 

I was afraid if I waited till morning I might 
change my mind. I’m taking your row-boat and 
one of the lanterns from your gate-post, and some 
bananas and cocoanut, and here is sixty-three dol- 
lars, which is all I have with me, to pay for them 


BOY SCOUTS 


332 

in case I shouldn’t be able to return them. And then 
will you please — I mean if it turns out that way — 
will you please send this letter to my father at 
Oakwood, N. J., so he will know what became of 
me, and send a note to Mrs. Holden at Whitville, 
Mo., and tell her I tried to get her son back in time 
so they wouldn’t arrest him. 

I thank you very much, for you’ve helped me 
decide a hard thing to-night — and Mendez didn’t 
have any help like that. 


Harry Arnold. 


CHAPTER XXII 


NAVASSA 

All night long the wind blew in gusts and the 
sea continued turbulent and stormy. Occasionally 
a few drops of rain fell out of the black sky, omi- 
nous heralds of the tropical hurricane which was 
threatening. 

That night the big liner, Victoria-Luise, plowed 
her way through wave and darkness in the Wind- 
ward Passage, bearing her company of expectant 
tourists to see the great Canal. Sometime in the 
late, lonely watches of the night the oilskin-clad 
figure in her “ crow’s-nest ” called down to the 
bridge that he saw a light far off the star-board bow, 
and the officer, sauntering to the extreme end of 
the bridge, scrutinized the dark waste of water, 
but could see no light. He acknowledged the look- 
out’s report by repeating, “ Light on the starboard 
bow, all right,” and the mammoth iron hull, vibrat- 
ing with the ceaseless throb of her great engines, 
was soon beyond the tiny light’s radius. If there 
were a light at all, the officer thought, it must be a 
great distance away. 

The figure which sat in the stern of a little row- 
333 


334 


BOY SCOUTS 


boat in the Windward Passage had seen the lights 
of the distant liner and had watched them disappear 
far to the south. On an oar lashed upright in the 
middle of this tiny craft was fastened the light 
which the practiced eye of the lookout had seen, and 
at the base of the light was securely tied a little com- 
pass. Thus both were above (or, with luck and 
skill and vigilance, might be kept above) the water 
which was shipped with every turn and maneuver 
of the little shell. 

In the stern, with a baling-can held fast between 
his feet, sat the boy, his gaze fixed upon the moun- 
tainous waves which were rolling higher and ever 
higher, and more tumultuously, in upon him. It 
seemed as if his enemy were bringing reinforce- 
ments to the charge with each fresh advance. 

It was the battle of David and Goliath. 

A boy was fencing with the ocean and matching 
his skill against its awful power. 

Carefully, measuring the effect of every move- 
ment, he wielded the only weapon that he had 
against the mighty foe that surrounded him — a 
paddle. But a paddle is quite as much a weapon as 
a sword, and requires much the same dexterity and 
skill. You can retreat with a paddle, or advance, or 
feint, or, if you think it expedient and care to take 
the chance, you can make a sudden, violent assault. 
You can throw your bow up with a paddle ; you can 
drag it as a rudder ; you can turn it into a whizzing 


AT PANAMA 


335 

propeller; you can sometimes mount the black for- 
tifications of the wildest sea and run down into the 
watery entrenchments on the other side. Then you 
must bale quickly and be ready for the next advance. 
If you mount diagonally you will have more baling 
to do. Don’t ever run down diagonally, nor cross 
the summit diagonally. Stand, if you think a 
sudden shifting of your weight will become neces- 
sary, but remember that the skill of shooting rapids 
is not the same as that required for a skirmish with 
a hurricane. Always keep your bow up; it is like 
keeping your troops concealed. The less length 
there is under water, the more difficult it is for 
your enemy to throw you around. Bale as fast 
and as often as you get a chance; it is like carrying 
your wounded from the field. Watch ceaselessly, 
but don’t look too far ahead, and don’t worry about 
the enemy’s rear-guard. Calculate carefully, and 
carry out your calculations nicely. Your paddle 
belongs off your left side when its use is not 
imminent somewhere else. 

Of course, it was an unequal struggle; the odds 
were against him. But remember, the ocean has no 
brains, and Harry had that one advantage over 
his foe. 

The boy whose skill was matched against the 
wrathful power of the Caribbean Sea that night 
was a scout, and he knew the use of the paddle. If 
he won at all it must be by science, he knew; that. 


BOY SCOUTS 


336 

And calm, alert, with all his mind concentrated 
upon the struggle, thinking quickly, and maneuver- 
ing with amazing skill to meet each new tactic 
of his enemy, watching eagerly as a swordsman 
watches, a stroke now to the right, now to the left, 
now a quick, decisive twirl this way or that, just in 
the nick of time; so, by dint of ceaseless watching 
and planning, thinking out each move and counter- 
acting the moves of his adversary with lightning 
agility and matchless cunning, Harry performed 
the miracle of keeping above those black, tempes- 
tuous mountains which tossed him on their crests 
and plunged him low in their abysmal canons. 

Sometimes he was almost swamped, and once 
he was out of the boat entirely, regaining it with 
difficulty. The direction of the swell was generally 
such that he could keep his bow due east, but how 
far he might have been carried north or south he 
could not tell. He feared he might be borne back 
to the Jamaica coast and dashed against its rocks. 
But when dawn came he found that he was out of 
sight of land. 

There is one good thing about the Caribbean 
Sea: its wrathful fits are soon over, and it has a 
way of calming down all in a minute, as if to say, 
“ Let bygones be bygones.” 

He was glad enough to do that. All through 
that wild, awful night he had been threatened and 
bullied, but he had kept a level head, and here he was 


AT PANAMA 


337 


at dawn, limp, panting, trembling from weakness 
and exhaustion, but victorious for the time at least. 

The sea was now almost as smooth as glass and, 
reclining in the stern of his gallant little shell, he 
prepared to recuperate his strength with a little 
food and rest. He learned then the homely value of 
the cocoanut and the grateful nutriment of the 
humble banana. With his knife he bored a little 
hole in the cocoanut’s hairy shell and sucked out 
the delicious, nourishing milk. Then he broke the 
nut and ate its strengthening meat. There is no 
food like the cocoanut, if you pick it fresh in its 
sultry, tropic home. It is food and drink both. 
Not that I have anything to say against a banana, 
or a dozen of them, provided you are where they 
grow. But no one knows what a banana is unless 
he has lived in the Torrid Zone. 

As the morning advanced, the flying fish began to 
play about the little boat, gliding across it, and 
sometimes mistaking the span and tumbling in. 
Later a school of porpoises accompanied him and 
almost capsized him in their playful maneuvers. 
After a while he propped himself up and began 
to paddle in earnest. He paddled steadily for sev- 
eral hours. At night he decided to have bananas 
and cocoanut for supper so as to vary the bill-of- 
fare, since he had had cocoanut and bananas in the 
morning. Taking advantage of the amiable mood 
of the sea, he had even dozed a little through the 


BOY SCOUTS 


338 

day, enjoying in his exhaustion a kind of half sleep 
in which he retained enough of consciousness to 
keep his boat headed toward the east. 

With sunset came a fitful breeze which grew 
stronger as the night fell, and made him apprehen- 
sive. The calm was not indeed to continue, and the 
sea was rough with a kind of smoldering anger, 
all night. 

“ We seem to be getting on the outs again, old 
Nep,” said Harry, as he wet his hands in the brine 
and grasped his paddle for the long night’s vigil. 

But old Neptune, though he complained in an un- 
dertone and beat about all night, did not lash him- 
self into another fury. 

All night long the boy paddled steadily, wetting 
and massaging his left wrist occasionally, for it 
ached cruelly from the abrupt little twirl of it which 
skillful paddling makes necessary. And all night 
long he watched his compass in the glare of the 
lantern light. 

In the morning a bright idea struck him. I’ll 
have bananas and cream for breakfast,” he said. 

So he broke a cocoanut in half and cut up a 
banana in the rich milk which lay in one-half of 
the shell. 

He had a wistful hope of seeing land that day, or 
at least some sign of life; a passing ship would 
have been better than nothing. Moreover, he was 
troubled with the fear that he might have been 


AT PANAMA 


339 


borne south of the Haitian coast, in which case he 
would miss it and be carried out among the Lesser 
Antilles or the Windward Group, or, escaping these, 
out upon the bosom of the broad Atlantic. 

Still another day passed and another night, and 
he was upon the verge of collapse from exhaustion 
and insufficient sleep, and still there w^as no sign of 
land. His arms were so stiff that he used his paddle 
right and left at short intervals in the hope of relief. 
They had been sorely burned and inflamed too, 
by the tropic sun. 

He was no longer in the cheerful mood which 
the encouragement of his first triumph and the 
balmy weather of the next day had given him. 
He was half sick with paddling and almost des- 
perate from the fear that all this work and risk 
and suffering should still prove futile, and he should 
find no haven to the east, but some far-off desert 
island in that scattering company which inscribes 
its semicircular expanse far out beyond the outer- 
most member of the West Indies. He began to 
doubt whether he might even find such hapless 
refuge as that, and in his weak and panic state 
began almost to hope that the sea would swallow 
him up and Mrs. Holden and her daughter learn 
that only death had caused his failure. I don’t 
want to live and fail,” he said. 

At the end of the fourth day he felt sure that he 
was miles out of his course, headed for the Wind- 


340 


BOY SCOUTS 


ward, or Leeward, Group, or for Europe — he knew 
not where, except that he was making eastward. 
He was convinced that Haiti was far behind him. 
And he was truly desperately ill. His head throbbed 
with every stroke of his paddle, and his work was 
even more handicapped by his hopelessness, for he 
felt that each stroke bore him farther from his des- 
tination. 

Still he paddled on, panting, his hands trembling, 
his head swimming and burning with fever. 

I — I — Fve — done all — I — I could,” he gasped. 

Yes, Harry, you have done all you could this time, 
surely. But see, what is that, away off straight 
ahead of you? It looks like a cloud. Don’t you re- 
member, that is how San Salvador looked to Colum- 
bus, just a cloud on the horizon? But see how it 
slopes down on either side. That is not a cloud. Sit 
up, Harry, gather your strength, make this one final 
effort; paddle just two, three hours more, then see 
how that looks. 

With renewed strength he sat up and paddled for 
three hours, straight eastward. Again and again he 
brushed the straggling lock of hair back from his 
throbbing forehead. His flushed, hot face was 
eager, his dry lips trembled, the fever which stared 
in his eyes gave them a wild, desperate look. 

But he paddled — how he paddled ! 

Now look at it, Harry; you could see it better but 
for the twilight. But there is Haiti, sure enough. 


AT PANAMA 


'341 


And Jack will come marching home again,” he 
thought, he will, he will. Well get the steamer at 
Port au Prince, and — ” 

It was almost dark when he drew his boat up on 
a wild, bleak shore. There was no sign of life, no 
house, no path, no tree; nothing but a beach and a 
hill. Painfully he mounted the hill to see, if might 
be, how he could make his way to the nearest settle- 
ment. But he saw no settlement, only the same 
waste of ocean beyond. 

Poor boy! That’s right, throw yourself down 
upon the grass and have it out, and let the kind de- 
lirium of fever take you away from this cruel 
reality. 

For Harry was on a little, lonely, treeless desert 
island, with none but the shrieking seabirds to keep 
him company. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A STRANGE CALLER 

He’s done every single thing in the Scout Man- 
ual — he’s got the gold cross, and the signaler’s badge, 
and the stalker’s badge, and the marksman’s badge — 
and — and he’s so strong that he can’t catch any kii;id 
of sickness and — ” 

Not much of a catcher, is he? ” 

What ! He caught two liners and three flies — ” 
‘‘ He can’t even catch the grippe.” 

“ And besides that (you think you’re funny, don’t 
you !), and besides that, he can bend his Angers back, 
like that, till they touch his wrist; and another thing, 
even his enemies would admit it, he — ” 

He’s got lots of enemies, has he? ” 

** He’s hasn’t got any ! ” 

‘‘What are they admitting, then?” 

“ You think you’re smart, don’t you ! He — what 
was I going to say? Oh, he’s stronger than any fel- 
low his age in this city — ” 

“What city?” 

“ This — well, the last city we passed. He can 
throw a ball — he can throw a ten thousand — a ten- 
pound weight — he can throw — ” 

“ He can throw a good bluff.” 

342 


BOY SCOUTS 


343 


The young gentleman who offered this last sug- 
gestion received a shove which almost sent him 
sprawling into the Mississippi River. 

The Scout had been safely dislodged from Cole- 
man’s Tree, and had proceeded on her way down- 
stream, the boys bearing many messages from 
motherly Mrs. Holden and her daughter, which they 
promised to deliver to the absent soldier if they 
should run across him on the Isthmus. The three 
of them were now sitting in their favorite perch, 
along the stern end of the hunting-cabin of the good 
ship (or the bad ship) Scout, with their legs dang- 
ling into the cockpit, while Mr. Howell sat in his 
steamer chair which almost filled the cockpit, read- 
ing a back number of that exciting paper, the En- 
gineering News. He was reading about lateral 
strains and shock absorption and excessive pressure, 
and he now looked up over the top of his spectacles 
to see whether there was too much friction among 
the trio, and whether it might possibly lead to an 
explosion. He was always watchful lest the delight 
which his sons took in jollying Gordon might result 
in bad feeling; but it never did, for though Gordon 
often grew very vehement and excited, he seldom 
became really angry, though the subject of Harry 
Arnold was one on which he was extremely touchy. 
For Harry was his idol. 

“ Well,” said Joe Howell, mischievously, ‘‘ I’m 
from Missouri, you’ll have to show me.” 


344 BOY SCOUTS 

“I’ll show you all right when we get to Pan- 
ama.” 

“If we ever do,” observed Will. 

That was a wise provision, for the Sconfs de- 
meanor in her progress down the great river had 
been anything but worthy of her name. For one 
thing, she leaked incessantly, and some one was 
nearly always working the pump. Sometimes she 
went sideways, sometimes frontways. Sometimes 
the engine worked, and then again, sometimes it 
didn’t. It must have been a constitutional disorder, 
for the motor declined positively to reveal any 
specific trouble. Mr. Howell, who had long since 
lost the last vestige of respect for the boat, pro- 
nounced it a case of “ pure cussedness.” 

They had at last, in their rambling, interrupted 
progress of alternate drifting, camping, and spurts 
of running under power, reached the lower stretch 
of river, where the first hint of the sea was percep- 
tible in the pungent odor of salt marsh. The river 
now was wide and rough, and fewer of the shanty- 
boat people and “ rafters,” those river tramps who 
had been so plentiful above Vicksburg, were to be 
seen. They had bought most of their provisions 
from these wandering merchants, and nowThey had 
been obliged to go ashore at Baton Rouge for sup- 
plies. This quaint old town was soon left in the dis- 
tance, its picturesque capitol building standing like 
a medieval castle and fading gradually as the 


AT PANAMA 


345 

Scput, in one of her amiable moods, chugged mer- 
rily southward. 

Now great sugar plantations bordered both sides 
of the widening river, extending far back to the 
borders of the forest. Occasionally, some stately 
mansion or fine old manor-house could be seen 
among the magnolia trees which were plentiful 
along the shores. Now and then, a group of lively 
pickaninnies, playing along the levees, would salute 
them with missiles, or some Southern mammy 
would wave a red bandanna as they chugged by. 
They were all expectancy now and anxious to reach 
the city which would usher them out of the winding 
river into the gulf. 

“ Boys,’’ said Mr. Howell, “ I want you to listen 
to me. If the Scout continues to behave, which she 
probably won’t, we’ll be in New Orleans before 
night. I know you’re anxious to get to the Isthmus 
and so am I, but discretion is the better part of 
valor; isn’t that so?” 

Sure it is,” said Joe. 

'' Same here,” said Will. 

“ I’ll have the same,” said Gordon. 

Well, then,” said Mr. Howell, laughing, be- 
fore we tackle the Gulf I’m going to have this old 
boat thoroughly overhauled, and that may keep us 
here a week. I know you boys are impatient, but 
it’s well to have one old fogey along with old- 


BOY SCOUTS 


346 

fashioned ideas about safety, isn’t it? We all want 
to get home alive, don’t we ? ” 

“ Good guess,” said Gordon. 

“ Well, then, I want you to just settle down and 
have a good time in the city and don’t fret about 
getting away. We’ll get away just th^ very min- 
ute we can get this old scow in condition to take us 
down to Colon. She’s been acting like a great, big, 
overgrown baby.” 

“ Naughty, naughty,” said Will, slapping her 
side, “ to behave so ! ” 

“ But she’ll brace up and be all right yet,” said 
his father. I suspect that first cylinder’s all 
clogged up with carbon. Anyway, I’m going to 
have it taken apart, and have the planking rein- 
forced with extra ribs, to draw up that plank, and 
I’m going to have her caulked and painted. And 
you boys can look around for a suitable boat for a 
tender. With all respect to you, Gordon, I don’t 
mean she shall have any more adventures.” 

But it was not for Mr. Howell to say what her 
future history or her fate should be. Her ad- 
ventures, alas, were not over. 

They reached New Orleans that afternoon, and 
the very first thing Mr. Howell did was to inquire 
for some competent man to overhaul the Scout's 
engine and for some one who could draw up her 
sprung planking, and caulk and paint her. Then, 
turning their prow up the river again, they made a 


AT PANAMA 


347 


landing at a little one-horse shipyard, or marine 
carpenter shop, a mile or two above the city. Here 
they bargained for the work, receiving the cheer- 
ing intelligence that it could be finished within a 
week. And so, assured that they might continue 
their voyage after that brief time, they made their 
way overland to the city, and to one of its best 
hotels for such a square meal, as Mr. Howell said, 
as they had not enjoyed since they left the hospit- 
able roof of Mrs. Holden. 

Next morning the boys started out sight-seeing, 
and Mr. Howell settled himself in a comfortable 
armchair in the hotel lobby to read his Engineering 
News. Presently a call-boy informed him that a 
gentleman was asking for him at the desk. Fol- 
lowing the boy, he found a stout, elderly man with 
spectacles leaning against the counter, who scru- 
tinized him with two little beady black eyes. 

“ Good-morning,” said Mr. Howell, surprised ; 
‘‘ you wish to see me, sir ? ” 

“ Meester Howell? Ah, yess,” jerked out the 
stranger. “ I would much weesh to haf’ a word 
weeth you.”- 


CHAPTER XXIV 


‘‘ TO HIM THAT OVERCOMETH 

At dawn Harry Arnold dragged himself to his 
feet after a night of pain and fever, and periods of 
troubled sleep. He knew that he must have been 
delirious, for he had seen the medal and Mr. Barney 
and Carleton Conne. Gordon had been with him, 
and they had gone off on a treasure hunt together, 
far in the Panamanian jungle. And through all 
these visions of his burning, throbbing head, there 
had been the steady motion of paddling, up and 
down over waves, up and down, till his wrist ached 
from the little twirling motion that he knew so well. 

When he rose he knew that he was very sick, and 
with the knowledge came despair. He knew that 
he was not able to venture out again upon that 
waste of sea; and even if he were able, he asked 
himself, where should he go, in which direction 
should he point his prow? He did not even know 
whether Jamaica was due west. And if he knew it 
was, he would not, if he could, go there. 

He had never before actually failed. He had not 
always been unqualifiedly successful in his ventures, 
but he had never utterly failed. Now, he told him- 
348 


BOY SCOUTS 


349 


self, he had utterly failed ; and it seemed proper that 
he should not survive his failure. He had been 
willing, ready, to go down in those black waves in 
his effort to save Jack, but to die of fever on a 
lonely, desert island, that was an alternative he had 
not thought of. 

Yet that was the fate that stared him in the face, 
as he dragged himself down to the shore and grimly 
prepared for himself such accommodation as might 
enable him to die with some degree of comfort. 
With the strength born of despair, he drew the boat 
up and inverting it rested one end against a rocky 
precipice, and lay down beneath this shed, using 
his two cushions as a pillow. Often at home he 
had made a roof of his canoe in this way. The last 
time had been when Marjorie Danforth and he had 
been caught in a heavy shower up the river. That 
was his last wistful thought as he lay down. 

How long he lay there he did not know. Night 
came, and day and night again, and then there came 
a time when he drank a little milk from a cocoanut. 
Finally, he rose, feeling strangely weak and giddy 
and uncertain on his feet, and dragged himself to 
the top of the hill to see if there were any sign of a 
vessel. 

There was none. But straight eastward, a dozen 
miles or more away, he thought, there loomed up 
a mountainous stretch of shore, and as he gazed at 
it there rushed to his mind the recollection that 


350 


BOY SCOUTS 


when he had looked from the rail of the Ancon to 
see the distant shore of Haiti, he had consulted the 
map in the steamship folder and had noticed, close 
under the Haitian shore, a tiny island, the island of 
Navassa. Could this be Navassa, and not some dis- 
tant island far out of his course? Was that in truth 
the long, thin finger of the Haitian peninsula reach- 
ing toward him? Had he been all this time under 
its very shadow, its welcoming mountains veiled 
from him only by the darkness and by his own 
fever? 

In any event, it was land, and ill though he still 
was, he would go there. “ It will be as good a place 
to die as this,” he cynically told himself. He did 
not think now that there was any possible chance of 
finding Jack; that hope had vanished in his late 
disappointment and his present illness, and he was 
discouraged. But he would still do all he could. 

So, half conscious at times, and nearly dropping 
with fatigue, he set forth in his little boat for that 
neighboring shore. The Caribbean was smooth, 
and he lay in the stern weakly manipulating his 
paddle. Every stroke made his head throb, and 
the fervor of the tropic sun was intolerable upon 
his hot, dry forehead. With his trembling hand 
he bathed his parched lips, but the warm salt water 
only nauseated him. He would have given his life 
for a fresh, cooling draught. 

Wind and tide were in his favor, and late that 


AT PANAMA 


351 


day he drew his boat up on a wide beach beyond 
which the rocks lay in great ugly masses, and 
beyond these the mountains. It was a bleak, lonely, 
uninhabited shore, a scene of desolation. 

Staggering along the beach, he looked about for 
some sign of human life. His late exertion had 
imparted a tremulousness to his frame, and he was 
so weak and giddy as he walked along that he 
came near to falling more than once. Then, sud- 
denly, he whirled and dropped to the ground. 

But it was not the invalid that fell; it was the 
scout that kneeled. 

For there at his feet was a footprint, which I 
should have supposed might have been his own, 
though he seemed to think otherwise. For he 
studied it closely, touching it here and there, as if 
it were some delicate, costly fabric. With a quick 
motion of annoyance, he brushed that falling lock 
back from his forehead; and soothing his throbbing 
head with his palm, he bent low over his discovery. 

“ It’s — it’s the kind they use for target practice 
in the three-hundred-yard dash; there’s the heel- 
plate as clean as day — unless,” he added, shaking 
his head dubiously, '' unless the soldiers in Haiti 
wear that kind.” 

It’s little I know, Harry, about the kind of shoes 
our soldiers wear in target practice, or about three- 
hundred-yard dashes or heel-plates; but if it’s any 
consolation to you I can tell you that the soldiers 


352 


BOY SCOUTS 


in Haiti wear no shoes at all; if one of them saw a 
pair of shoes, he would probably die of fright. 

If there is one place more than another in the 
world where the fugitive from justice is safe, that 
place is the island on whose western extremity 
Harry had landed. He was, in fact, upon the 
territory of the Black Republic, and his working 
capital was just no more than a good American 
footprint. He was at the base of the mountains 
among whose wild, untraversed fastnesses the 
cannibal and the bloody Voodoo priest still hold 
their unmolested sway. The long, thin, rugged 
peninsula which stretches its one hundred and fifty 
miles westward is as wild and primitive to-day as 
when Diego Mendez pushed his solitary way through 
its pestilent, tangled jungle and its rocky mountain 
passes. 

Just in the elbow, where it joins the island proper, 
is the city of Port au Prince, the capital of the Black 
Republic, a filthy, dilapidated place where steamers 
occasionally put in when there is no plague or 
yellow fever, and no revolution going on. If it were 
not for this long, narrow peninsula, Jamaica would 
be nearly three hundred, instead of one hundred and 
twenty-five, miles from Haiti. 

Far out on the end, or very near the end, of this 
wild region is a little settlement called Jeremie, 
which has proved a very useful place, for when a 



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AT PANAMA 


353 


Haitian rebel who has been unsuccessful, or a 
president who has stolen the funds from the na- 
tional treasury, finds it inadvisable to take ship in 
Port au Prince, he can travel to the end of the 
peninsula and then disappear. Where he goes is 
never known. Capot sees to that. 

Capot is about all there is to Jeremie. Capot 
will conceal you, transport you, change your name 
for you, — and betray you if he thinks it worth his 
while. If Haiti has a treaty with another nation to 
return criminals and fugitives, this is the way she 
does it. She has them pay a good sum, then turns 
them over to Capot, and reports that she cannot 
find them. Sometimes people die on Capot’s hands. 
That is usually when their money is gone. Capot’s 
ways are dark, like his color. 

It was in the direction of this foul place that 
the footprint, and others half discernible, led Harry. 
At least, they led him to a little eminence from 
which he could see the smoke of the settlement, as 
it curled up against the craggy background of the 
mountains. He was very weak and dizzy, but he 
plodded on, for if his illness had sapped his wonted 
strength, it had at least increased, if that were 
possible, his dogged resolution. He would go on 
till he came to the end. So, like one in a trance, 
he pressed his way through a maze of underbrush, 
and through places where each tree seemed like 
half a dozen trees and all about to fall upon him, 


354 


BOY SCOUTS 


until he was within half a mile of the little cluster 
of houses, and he noticed that the buildings were 
on piles and set high up from the ground, like 
houses walking on stilts. 

Now he came to a grove of palm trees and fancied 
that he heard a sound close at hand. There was a 
figure cutting through the place — a figure carrying 
a gun and some game. Harry reeled against a 
tree and clutched it to hold himself up. He jerked 
his head back and with a tremulous, hollow, 
ghastly laugh, tossed the falling lock from his fore- 
head. 

“ Just — just — the one — I — wanted to — see,” he 
gasped ; funny — how you — ” 

The approaching figure dropped the gun and 
rushing forward, caught the reeling boy in his 
arms. 

“ Those houses — they’re all — sliding — down — 
Jack. Tve done — all — I cou — ” 

The throbbing, frenzied, burning head was 
drawn down so that it rested on one of the broad, 
straight shoulders that Uncle Sam knows how to 
make. 

“You — you — understand — don’t you?” came in 
a faint, half-conscious whisper. 

The limp form was lowered gently to the earth, 
the head pillowed upon the other’s forearm. From 
a hunter’s flask a shower of cool spring water 
from those mountain fastnesses was thrown over 


AT PANAMA 355 

the flushed face, and a hand moved, ever so gently, 
against the burning temples. 

“ Yes, I understand.” 

“ I don’t — want — any piece of — of — junk — I’ve 
— done all I — ” 

Yes, I know; it’s my turn now.” 

It was many days later when two haggard figures, 
one pitiably gaunt, pushed aside for the last time 
the tangled vegetation in their path, and emerged 
from the dim intricacies of the mountain jungle 
into the little village of Leogane at the eastern end 
of the Haitian peninsula, and gazed across a stretch 
of marshy lowland at the most inhospitable city in 
the world — for a white man. 

“ There she is, at last,” panted Harry. 

'' There she is,” echoed Jack. 

You can say what you please about her, old 
man, but she looks good to me.” 

“Be it ever so rotten. 

There’s no place like Port au Prince,** 

hummed Jack. Are you tired? ” 

N-no.” 

Sit down on that rock.” 

“ I think that’s the smoke of the steamer starting 
for the Isthmus,” said Harry. He liked to tease 
Jack this way. 

'' Well, you’ve another think, my fraptious boy,” 


BOY SCOUTS 


356 

said Jack. She starts to-morrow at 10 a.m., and 
not one minute before.” 

Have you kept track of the days? ” 

Fve kept track of the days, never fear.” 
When I was sick?” 

“ You’re sick now, you old — ” 

No, I’m not; just give me that little sea voyage 
that’s coming to me and I’ll throw you across 
Culebra Cut yet ! ” 

''Fancy that!” said Jack, indulgently. Then, 
seeing the other’s thoughtful look, he added seri- 
ously, " What’s the matter, old man ? ” 

" Nothing. I was just thinking.” 

" About what? The steamer? I’ve kept tabs on 
the days, old man; don’t let that trouble you. See 
here now, we were three days and two nights in the 
cave,” he counted them on his fingers, " and two 
days in the deserted shack — there’s five days; then 
Ave were five days in the jungle before we came to 
the swamp — don’t you remember when I shot the 
armadillo? That was the first time you ate any 
meat ; then — ” 

Harry shook his head languidly. " No, I don’t 
remember; but as long as you know we’re in time, 
it’s all right.” 

"What are you worrying about, then? Here, 
rest against this rock and lay your head back — like 
that. Raise your neck a little so I can put this 
coat under; there, that better? ” 


AT PANAMA 


357 


Yes/’ 

“Now, what’s troubling you? Thinking about 
the— ” 

“ No, I’m not, and I told you never to mention 
that again. I don’t want it. I was just wondering 
how safe it is for a motor-boat like that to cross the 
Gulf and the Caribbean.” 

Jack smiled. “ You’re looking forward to seeing 
your friend, aren’t you, old man? ” 

“ Yes, I am,” said Harry, weakly. “ I forgot 
all about his letter those first few days, but after I 
found you and when I began to get better, I remem- 
bered it and then I began to look forward, and 
then I got to worrying some. You see,” he added, 
“ I know what the Caribbean is.” 

“ Yes,” said Jack, softly, “ you certainly do.” 

He looked so sober that Harry was sorry he had 
mentioned the Caribbean. There was a few min- 
utes’ silence, and when Jack spoke again his voice 
was low and very earnest. 

“ Do you know, Harry, I’ve got a crazy kind of 
notion that I guess you won’t understand. Does it 
tire you to hear me talk? ” 

Harry shook his head. 

“ Did you ever have an idea that didn’t seem to 
have any sense when you told it? Do you think a 
fellow might cross the Windward Passage without 
ever going to sea? I mean if he has a thing to de- 
cide and thinks and thinks about it and wants to do 


BOY SCOUTS 


358 

one thing and knows he ought to do the other, and 
wrestles and fights with himself — it’s all just inside 
of his head, I know — but isn’t it a kind of Wind- 
ward Passage that he has to cross — or that he tries 
to cross? He may go down like I did, or would 
have if I hadn’t been rescued. That’s a freakish 
kind of an idea, isn’t it? ” he added, half ashamed. 

“ I guess most everybody has to cross some kind 
of a Windward Passage sometime in his life,” said 
Harry. I understand.” 

But you crossed the real one — and there wasn’t 
any one to rescue you.” 

“ There was another one I crossed,” said Harry, 

and that was in Culebra Cut, in the middle of the 
night, and that was just as much of a fight and 
tussle — I guess.” 

‘‘ But you crossed it,” said Jack, proudly. 

“ I had the big Cut — Culebra Cut — to help me.” 

Jack looked puzzled. Perhaps he thought his 
friend’s mind was wandering a little again. “ Do 
you feel able to go on? ” he said gently. You’re 
going to sleep in a bed to-night if I have to oust 
the President from his palace.” 

The next morning, having rested and bathed, as 
well as any one may rest or bathe in the capital of 
Haiti, they breakfasted on the first regular meal 
they had had for many weary days of tramping 
and camping, during which Jack had been guide 
and nurse and housekeeper. If the steamer made 


AT PANAMA 


359 


Colon in four days (and it usually took her only 
three), Jack would be in barracks on the morning 
that his furlough expired. Was it any wonder he 
was elated? And though Harry did not know 
what sort of greeting awaited him at Panama, still 
he would see Gordon there; there would be that, 
anyway. 

The wharf was but a little distance from the 
dilapidated hotel where they had stayed, and Harry, 
refreshed by an uninterrupted night’s sleep, wan- 
dered along the quays with Jack, seeing what little 
there was to see of the wretched place before going 
aboard the Prdsident. Jack, watchful and solic- 
itous, was continually urging him to go aboard 
the ship, where he might enjoy that blessed luxury 
of the convalescent, a steamer chair. 

“ All right,” said Harry, at length, “ just wait 
till we see what that crowd is about and I’ll go with 
you. Dr. Holden.” 

Oh, never mind the crowd.” 

I think it’s a new revolution starting,” urged 
Plarry. “ We can get some points.” 

We’ll get our pockets picked,” said Jack, un- 
willingly following him down to the end of the 
rickety pier. 

Here was a little crowd of negroes talking ex- 
citedly in French and pointing into the water. The 
boys went to the edge and looked down. There was 
the wreck of a sizable motor-boat rolling logily amid 


BOY SCOUTS 


360 

a mass of weeds and driftwood, and refuse from the 
city. Her cabin was entirely gone, and her water- 
logged hull was almost at the water-line. A negro 
who had come alongside her in a punt to investi- 
gate, pulled a pair of shoes out of her cockpit with 
a boathook. 

'' Come,” said Jack, it’s only a wreck drifted 
in.” 

But Harry stood, staring into the water, trem- 
bling visibly. He questioned those about and 
gleaned from their surly answers that the boat must 
have been wrecked in the high wind of a night or 
two previous and her entire crew had evidently 
perished, as she had drifted in this morning with 
no sign of life on board. 

The negro in the punt stepped upon the stern 
piece, and it sank so that the bow appeared just 
enough above the water to reveal the gold lettering 
on its edge. 

“ Jack,” said Harry, shaking like a leaf, “ Jack, 
look — ” 

What’s the matter, old man? ” said Jack, catch- 
ing the swaying form. 

Look — look — ” It was all Harry could say. 
Jack looked and saw the words Scouts St. Louis, 
Mo. upon the bow of the boat. 

The treacherous Caribbean had sent them this 
ghastly memento of her triumph to show that those 
who brave her fury are not always allowed to be 
victorious. 


CHAPTER XXV, 


JACK FINDS A WAY 

The big Tivoli Hotel was resplendent with bunt- 
ing. The stars and stripes and the flag of the 
Panama Republic hung side by side above the spa- 
cious entrance, and the cosy little bungalows which 
clustered about Uncle Sam's great hostelry on the 
slopes of Ancon Hill made each its contribution to 
the gala scene in tasteful arrays of festoon and 
streamer. 

From the rear verandas of the big hotel (so long 
the scene of dance and revel for Uncle Sam's great 
working force) could be seen a score of vessels 
riding at anchor in the slow roll of the Pacific. 
Even the sprawling, indolent Spiggoty coach 
drivers had bedecked their shabby equipages in 
cheap, but ostentatious, finery in honor of the dress 
rehearsal. 

For, as sure as you live, the “ Old Man " was 
going to ‘‘ put a vessel through." Some day a year 
or two hence these decorations, or others more 
pretentious, would grace another and still more 
festive scene, the formal opening of the great canal. 
But that would be for the world at large. 

361 


BOY SCOUTS 


362 

This was different; just a family party, and a 
few intimate friends of the family. A celebration 
by the people, of the people, and for the people, — 
the people who had done the job, who had stood 
by the “ Old Man,” and who were going to honor 
him now. If there was one thing he hated, it was 
being honored, but he could not always have his 
own way. 

The ‘‘ Old Man’s ” private inspection car had 
been decorated. His neighbors, the Culebra boys, 
had attended to that. The Marine Band from Bas 
Obispo was going to serenade him that night. If 
he tried to escape through the back door, the Tenth 
Infantry Band from Camp Otis would be there to 
head him off. That was Tom Bonney’s idea. The 
boys over in the Surveyors’ Quarters in Empire 
were going to try to get his green sunshade, that 
battered war-horse that he loved so well, and fill 
it with tropical flowers. When he opened it — ! 

The Commissary boys had another scheme (they 
were always a lively lot). They were going to have 
the steamer Ancon's launch, literally covered with 
palm leaves, waiting at Pier ii, right behind the 
Cristobal Y. M. C. A., and take the Colonel (literally 
take him, mind you) from his inspection car and 
carry him across the harbor and on to the proud 
vessel which was to make the momentous trip. 

And yet you hear about Colonel Goethals’ being 
the “ boss.” The plain fact is that he was to have 


AT PANAMA 


363 

nothing whatever to say. He was in the hands of 
the boys, for one day at least. The “ Cut men ” 
had something up their sleeves, and the “ locks 
men ” and “ spillway men ” were just as bad. The 
“ sanitary men ” were worse. They had a great 
plan, but oh, weren’t they close-mouthed about it? 
Tfie McClintic-Marshall boys,^ who simply owned 
Gatun (or thought they did), had a high-handed 
enterprise. They were going to meet the Colonel 
on the Pacific side, away over halfway to Tobago 
Island, in one of the tugs of the Pacific Mail 
Steamship line, and bring him back to the Tivoli. 
How were they going to get the tug? Oh, there 
were ways. Trust the McClintic-Marshall boys for 
that. 

In a word, there were going to be ‘‘ some doings ” 
in the big happy family. 

A little after dark on the evening prior to the 
affair, the inter-island steamer Prdsident poked her 
way in between the breakwaters of Colon Harbor, 
and cast her anchor at a little distance from the 
vessel which was to play the leading role in the 
next day’s program. 

‘‘ What are all the electric lights on the 
Washington ^ for? ” asked a young man who stood 
at the rail. 


1 Employees of McClintic-Marshall Construction Co., but working 
under supervision of the Canal Commission. 

*The government’s hotel on Colon Beach. 


3^4 


BOY SCOUTS 


The Custom House man says they’re going to 
put a vessel through to-morrow,” said his compan- 
ion. He just came aboard. He’s talking with 
the purser now.” 

‘‘ Going to put a vessel through? ” the other re- 
peated listlessly. 

Yes, that vessel over there.” 

“ When do we go ashore? ” 

“ In the morning, I suppose. Don’t you want to 
turn in early, old man, and get a good night’s 
rest? ” 

'' I can’t sleep,” said the other. “ Maybe the 
doctors won’t let me go ashore,” he added wistfully. 

‘‘ Of course they will. They don’t quarantine 
people because they happen to be a little weak.” 

“ Are you sure to-morrow morning’s time enough 
for you to report? ” 

“ Don’t worry about me ; I’ve got till day after 
to-morrow.” 

You’d better report in the morning.” 

“ And desert my patient? Nit, not.” 

Harry looked at him gratefully, but could not 
force a smile to his lips. 

“What’s that over there. Jack, that light?” he 
asked dully, after a few minutes. 

“ That ? Oh, that’s a motor-boat, I guess. It’s 
making for that other ship — ^that white one. Don’t 
you know, we passed close by her coming in? I 
think it’s a yacht.” 


AT PANAMA 365 

Harry shuddered. ‘‘ I can’t bear to hear the 
word motor-boat,” he said in a low voice. “ It 
just seems to — ” 

I know, old man, don’t think of that now ; 
it’s like another Windward Passage — you’ve been 
through it. Brace up, don’t give way now; you’ve 
got — what’s-his-name — Mr. Barney, left.” 

I don’t know whether I have or not,” Harry 
said dubiously. “ I don’t even know that I belong 
on the Canal any longer. And nobody could ever 
take Gordon’s place to me, anyway.” 

There are all your friends — your other friends 
home in Oak wood.” 

There’s one who’ll always be my friend. I’m 
sure,” said Harry, and that’s Mr. Conne — if I 
can ever find him. Oh,” he added, “ wasn’t he 
amused at Gordon ! ” 

Jack said nothing, only tried to urge him from 
the rail and from these sad thoughts. 

“ Jack,” said Harry, wistfully, ‘‘ wouldn’t it be 
fine to go through the Canal? They’re lucky, the 
people who’ll be on that ship. If I could just go 
through it once, right through the Cut where I 
worked, then I’d be glad to go home. My mother 
and father will be home by that time.” 

I guess no one but the Old Man and a few of 
his friends will go through.” 

They’re lucky,” Harry answered. 

When he had gone to bed. Jack returned to the 


366 


BOY SCOUTS 


deck and on his face was a look of determination 
unusual to him. He went to the purser’s office, 
and that busy officer glanced up from his freight 
list frowningly. 

“ Could I go ashore? ” asked Jack. 

Certainly not — not till the Custom House men 
and the immigration officers and the doctors get 
through with us.” 

“ When will that be? ” 

Seven a.m.” 

Jack went out on deck, and the resolved look had 
tightened about his lips. 

“ I suppose that ship over there is the only one 
that’s going through ? ” he asked of the surgeon 
whom he met. 

The Customs man who was aboard said he 
thought that yacht there was going through after 
her,” replied the surgeon. “ She’s owned by some 
friend of the Colonel’s, I believe. You hear all 
kinds of things; guess there’s a lot of excitement 
ashore.” 

“That ship with the two lights?” asked Jack. 
“ That’s a yacht, is it? ” 

The surgeon turned to talk with some one else, 
and Jack wandered back to the narrow passage 
behind the wheel-house. For a minute he gazed 
across the harbor at the two lights and the white 
hull faintly outlined beneath them. Then he took 
off his shoes, his cap, his coat, and laid them in an 


AT PANAMA 


367 

orderly pile at his feet. Then, placing both hands 
upon the rail, he vaulted over into the darkness and 
struck out for the white hull. He had not grown 
up on the banks of the Mississippi River for noth- 
ing, and he knew how to swim. 

When he reached the white hull, he saw a little 
motor-launch rocking alongside the rope ladder. 
He clambered up the side of the launch, then to the 
ladder, then to the deck. Throwing back his head 
with a fine, soldierly air, he strode without cere- 
mony into a beautiful electric-lighted cabin. An 
elderly gentleman with a bald head sat in a chair 
reading. He looked up in astonishment at the 
drenched figure which stood before him. 

Excuse me, sir,” said Jack, “ I just swam over 
from the Haitian steamer and came aboard. Are 
you the owner of this ship? ” 

His manner was not especially deferential. He 
bore himself independently, as if he were doing 
and asking no more than his right. Yet his form 
was so straight, his bearing so open and soldierly, 
despite his dripping garments, that the man was 
not displeased. 

'' I am ; why did you come aboard that way ? ” 

'' Because I heard you were going through the 
Canal to-morrow. Is that so?” 

We expect to.” 

Well,” said Jack, going straight to the point, 
I went to Haiti — I was going to desert my regi- 


BOY SCOUTS 


368 

ment here in Panama; and a friend of mine who 
was working on the Canal gave up his chance of 
winning a canal medal, which he’d set his heart 
on, and went all the way to Haiti after me. He 
canoed across the Windward Passage and came 
near dying, just to bring me to my senses, and 
thanks to him Pm going to be in review Friday 
morning. That’s what you call a good turn, 
isn’t it ? ” 

You should be very grateful to him,” said the 
man, more and more puzzled. 

Pm just so grateful to him,” said Jack, that 
when he said he wished he could go through the 
Canal, I made up my mind he’d have his wish if^ 
there’s any kindness and decency among the ship’s 
people in this harbor.” 

I hope we have our share of kindness and 
decency here,” said the man, smiling. What is 
your friend’s name? ” 

But Jack had no chance to answer, for the cabin 
door opened and three boys entered. 

“ No use,” said one of them. “ The fellow that 
hates a quitter has quit.” 

No trace of him ? ” the man asked soberly. 

No, they all say the same thing. He just dis- 
appeared without any notice. Didn’t tell any one 
he was going, and nobody has heard a word of him 
since. They don’t know what to make of it.” 

Guess he’s on the way home,” said another of 


AT PANAMA 369 

tHe three. Uncle Sam's trusty has flown the coop, 
Pop." 

The gentleman looked sympathetically at the 
third boy, who had not spoken. He was smaller 
than the others, a little fellow with a round, brown 
face, whose lip trembled visibly. He reached down 
and hitched up his stocking. The misery written on 
his face and in his demeanor was pitiful. 

Come here, my boy," said the gentleman, softly. 
‘‘ I didn't think another day's hunting would do 
any good, but I consented for your sake. Don't 
feel badly. Boys, you mustn't make fun of him 
any more. If your friend has gone home, he 
probably had some good reason. Did you inquire 
at Ancon Hospital ? " 

Yes, everywhere," said one of the larger boys. 

You fellows — you can give it up if you like," 
the younger boy said with difficulty, “ but — I 
won't — I never will. He's either here or he's dead. 
He's not a quitter. He — he — " 

Hush, my boy," comforted the gentleman. 
Then, turning to Jack, who had stood silently by, 
he said, “ Here is a young man who has come to ask 
us to do him a good turn, and as you are the good 
turn specialist of our party, suppose you listen to 
his story. This boy here," he added, as the trio 
turned to Jack, whom they had scarcely noticed, 
"'believes that a good turn is a good business in- 
vestment and always bears fruit. So if we don’t 


370 


BOY SCOUTS 


do what you ask -from kindness and decency we 
might do it as a speculation and see what comes of 
it ; eh, Gordon ? ” 

Jack started at the sound of the name. 

This young man, boys,” went on the gentleman, 
“ has a friend worthy to be called a friend. He was 
telling me about him when you came in. A friend 
who gave up his prospect of getting one of those 
precious medals you were telling me about, to go 
to Haiti and bring back a soldier who had foolishly 
thought of deserting his regiment stationed here 
at Panama. So he wants this friend to go through 
the Canal with us to-morrow. What do you say, 
boys? Come, Gordon, cheer up! Shall we do this 
good turn? I think, my boy,” he said, turning to 
Jack, that we will invest in this good turn. Sup- 
pose you tell your friend — er, what did you say his 
name is ? ” 

His name,” said Jack, looking straight at 
Gordon, “is Harry Arnold; may I ask yours?” 

“ What? Where is he? ” shrieked Gordon, rush- 
ing at him as if he thought Jack might have Harry 
concealed somewhere about his dripping person. 

“ He’s over there on the Prdsident” ’said Jack, 
“and if you’re Gordon Lord, he thinks you’re 
dead because just before we left Haiti we saw a 
wreck of a motor-boat that had washed in after a 
storm, and it had Scout, St. Louis, Mo. on it. They 
told us all her people had been drowned.” 


AT PANAMA 


371 


Explanations flew thick and fast, and everybody 
talked at once. I cannot tell you who was the 
happier, Gordon or Jack Holden. But I can tell’ 
you who talked the most and ,who laid all the deep 
plans for the morrow — and that was Gordon. And 
I can tell you who looked very sheepish (though 
they were pleased enough, too), and that was the 
famous Howell brothers, specialists in jollying — 
address, St. Louis, Mo. 

It appeared from Gordon’s disjointed account 
that Mr. Howell had purchased this handsome 
steam yacht in New Orleans, after selling the Scout 
to a man who seemed very anxious to buy her. 
The matter had been seriously discussed, and 
Gordon prided himself greatly on having recom- 
mended the whole transaction, though they were 
all shocked to learn of the fate of the Scout. 

It was arranged that Jack should say nothing 
whatever to Harry about this visit, but should 
contrive to bring him aboard early the next morning. 
One of Mr. Howell’s crew rowed him back as near 
to the Prdsident as was safe (for it was contrary 
to rules for any one to hold communication with 
a vessel not yet inspected), and he swam the rest 
of the way and got aboard without being observed. 

But Mr. Howell had still a surprise up his sleeve. 

Boys,” he said, wiping his spectacles with great 
care, and then wiping his shiny bald head with the 
same care, as if he could see through that also if it 


372 


BOY SCOUTS 


were well polished, Tm afraid our limited accom- 
modations are going to be severely — er — ” 

Subjected to excessive internal pressure?” 
ventured Gordon, mischievously, taking one of his 
uncle’s pet scientific phrases. 

Mr. Howell laughed. He enjoyed this kind of 
fun quite as much as Gordon, and just now all hands 
were in high good humor. 

I’m afraid — er — the fact is, we shall be keeping 
open house to-morrow, but Christmas comes but 
once a year, as they say, and the Panama Canal 
doesn’t open every day. A man came out in a 
launch to see me this afternoon — a very interesting 
gentleman indeed ; he had two young men with him. 
They’ve recently returned from Mexico, I believe. 
He was — er — quite an amusing gentleman and a 
bit whimsical. He wanted to negotiate with me for 
permission to cross the Isthmus on this yacht for the 
purpose of securing motion pictures, in which busi- 
ness he is interested. I told him he could make no 
negotiations with me whatever, but that he was 
welcome as my guest. He and his party are coming 
aboard with their paraphernalia at six in the morn- 
ing. His name is Mr. Conne.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


THE WORLD UNITED 

‘‘ Get up, Harry, the doctors are on board. 
Hustle now ! 

This was not the way Jack had been talking 
lately, and Harry sat up in astonishment, rubbing 
his eyes. What’s that hanging there ? ” said he. 

‘‘ That’s friend Jack’s clothes, if you must know. 
I fell in the water last night and got drowned.” 

Wh-a-a-a-t ? ” Harry yawned ; then, “ On the 
level. Jack, what’s that string of clothes for? ” 

Jack leaned down over the lower berth, confi- 
dentially. Don’t mention it to a living soul,” said 
he ; “ can I trust you ? ” 

‘‘Of course you can.” 

“ The spillway broke last night and the ocean 
is simply drenched. The ship was saturated.'' 

“Have you gone daft?” said Harry, puzzled. 

“ Hustle up, now, you old son of trouble, and 
toddle into the dining-room,” said Jack, departing 
so that Harry might have more room in their 
cramped quarters. Looking through the porthole, 
Harry watched him sauntering down the deck sing- 
373 


374 


BOY SCOUTS 


ing the Culebra boys’ battle-song, which had won 
many a ball game : 


‘‘With never a kick, 

And nobody sick, 

And the boss on the job with his shovel and pick; 

Are we? We sure am. 

With everybody happy. 

And all hands well, 

Hurrah for Uncle Sam-u-el! 

Hurrah for Uncle Sam! ** 

It was certainly a great mystery. But Jack was 
glad to get back, thought Harry, and that was the 
secret of it. So he made up his mind to enter into 
Jack’s happiness as much as he could, though he 
really had no heart for gayety. He would try not 
to think of that awful thing, the truth of which he 
could not, even now, realize. For look where he 
would, in his mind’s eye he saw Gordon, and the 
thought that he would never see that round, merry 
face again unnerved him. He was not strong 
enough yet to wrestle with the blow. 

When he emerged on deck, he could see flags and 
streamers and signs of preparation on shore. The 
very air seemed charged with excitement and ex- 
pectancy. The harbor was full of vessels, all gay 
with pennants, and tugs and launches were hurrying 
about with an air of great importance. The old De 
Lesseps palace, close by the Commission wharf, 
was covered with flags, and the grove of cocoanut 


AT PANAMA 


375 


palms upon its lawn supported a continuous line of 
festooned bunting. Even the prosaic dry dock out 
toward Monkey Hill had the national colors draped 
over its ugly gates. Harry’s face grew wistful 
again as he saw all these preparations. He felt 
that somehow he was not a part of it all. 

When the doctors were through with them, Jack 
led him to the ship’s ladder. Below in the blue 
swell rocked a trim little open launch as white as 
snow. 

Ready ? ” called up a young fellow in white 
sailor garb. 

‘‘ What are you going to do ? ” Harry asked in 
surprise. 

“ Push you over if you don’t go down. You 
remember old Mr. Wentworth, don’t you?” 

Harry gave a quick look at his friend and went 
down the ladder. 

** Is that Mr. Wentworth’s yacht?” he asked as 
they started. 

“ It is not.” 

“ Why did you ask me if I remembered Mr. 
Wentworth? ” 

Because I chose to.” 

Where is Mr. Wentworth?” 

'' Home, feeding his chickens, probably.” 

Jack, what’s up ? ” 

The flags. Ask me another one.” 

His gayety seemed almost heartless. He ap- 


BOY SCOUTS 


376 

peared to have forgotten altogether the terrible 
thing that had happened. 

“ What are you going to do, Jack? ” Harry asked 
quietly, after a few minutes’ silence. 

“ Make you a small payment on account. Look 
over there now. You don’t happen to notice a fresh- 
looking urchin standing at the rail of that yacht, do 
you ; right close to that man ? ” 

What — who is it ? ” asked Harry, more bewil- 
dered than ever. 

“ It’s the only original Boy Scout, guaranteed; if 
not satisfied, you get your money back.” 

With tense, white face and straining eyes, Harry 
gazed at the small figure standing by the yacht’s 
rail. Was this another vision of his fever- weakened 
brain? But a frantic shout reassured him. 

Hey, Harry — o-o-oh, Harry ! I put a stop to a 
revolution on this Isthmus ! I can prove it — and I’m 
not dead. You can ask this man if it isn’t so! ” 

No, he was not dead; he was very, very much 
alive. 

Dazed and still staring blankly, Harry was pulled 
on board the yacht. Kid — ” he could only gasp. 

There was Gordon, shouting to every one to stand 
back and keep still and give him a chance. “ Harry, 
I was telling a girl about you, she lives up in — ” 
Harry boy,” interrupted a familiar voice as a 
hand was thrust over Gordon’s shoulder to grasp his 
own, “ if Vasco Nunez was only here! If you ex- 


AT PANAMA 


377 


pect to stay on this yacht, Harry, youVe got to 
promise not to interfere with the camera work; no 
gallant rescues, understand ? ” 

The sound of his voice saved Harry from col- 
lapsing. “ Oh, Mr. Conne,” he said, it’s good to 
see you, too. I suppose you’ve been telling them all 
about that brave act of mine. I don’t care, you 
can tell them whatever you like.” 

That was the way he felt. And was it any won- 
der? Clustered about him were Gordon and the 
Howell boys and Mr. Howell, and Andy Breen and 
George Warren and Mr. Conne, with his exasperat- 
ing smile, and — yes, there was little Pedro, in a 
clean khaki suit. 

What d’ you think of our guide and interpreter, 
Harry?” 

But the thing which amused Mr. Conne most was 
Gordon’s stopping the revolution. “ I was just puz- 
zling my head what we ought to do about that, 
Harry, when the little fellow here settled the whole 
business for us. He persuaded his uncle to sell a 
leaky old motor-boat to our friend Zamora, in New 
Orleans, and Zamora, it seems, fills it with firearms 
and starts across the gulf. Exit Zamora.” 

Is he dead, then? ” asked Harry. 

Couldn’t be deader. You saw the remains of 
the Scout, I hear ? ” 

For the next half-hour everybody talked at once, 
explaining and correcting everybody else’s expla- 


BOY SCOUTS 


378 

nations. Harry was the center of interest. It was in 
vain Mr. Howell, seeing that he was not yet over 
strong, tried to drag him below. He was just about 
to insist when Harry, with his arm over Gordon’s 
shoulder, wandered off with him out of this bedlam 
of talk and laughter. 

‘‘ Harry, oh Harry, those Howell fellows are get- 
ting no more than they deserve. I don’t feel sorry 
for them a bit.” 

“ How, Kid?” 

They said you were a quitter and you weren’t 
a hero ; but girls know more about those things than 
fellows do, Harry, and the girl, that girl up in 
Whitville, she said you must be a hero. I told her 
all about you, Harry, and you see she was right. 
Her name is Martha Holden and — What’s the 
matter ? ” 

Nothing, Kid; go on.” 

And, Harry, we owe them a good turn for what 
they did.” 

“ We’ve done them the good turn, Kid,” said 
Harry, quietly. “ I brought her brother back ; he 
was going away, but now he’ll answer roll-call in his 
regiment to-morrow morning.” 

Jack stood a little apart, leaning against the cabin 
and watching these two, and now he was joined by 
Mr. Howell, who had been very much attracted to 
the young soldier. 

“ That’s a good picture,” said Jack, nodding 


AT PANAMA 


379 


toward Harry and Gordon. I like to watch them.” 

Yes,” said Mr. Howell; “yes, it is a good pic- 
ture, my boy, and best of all, you painted it.” 

In celebration of this happy reunion, a sumptuous 
breakfast was served in the beautiful cabin of Mr. 
Howell's yacht. Outside, the whistles tooted and 
the harbor became busier and gayer. At nine o'clock 
the Colonel was coming out. Then things would 
move rapidly. 

Mr. Howell, sitting at the head of the table, 
beamed hospitably on his guests. But he was not 
the kind to keep a secret, and it was apparent from 
his significant smiles and mysterious manner that 
something was up. Finally, he put the whole re- 
sponsibility on Mr. Conne by saying, “ Mr. Conne, 
will you announce our — er — our little — er — plan?” 

Mr. Conne, his hands in his pockets and his 
head cocked sideways, rose and said, “ Well, friends, 
dear teachers and fellow-classmates, as you all 
know, our hospitable young host, Mr. Howell, has 
held up Colonel Goethals for the privilege of fol- 
lowing his vessel through the Canal. It seems he 
and the Colonel used to know each other in college — 
used to go out under the trees in the moonlight and 
talk strains and pressures and vibrations and other 
nonsense, together. So when he went ashore and 
reminded the Colonel of that, the Colonel wept to 
think of those dear old strains and pressures of his 


BOY SCOUTS 


380 

boyhood days. Then young Mr. Howell came back 
at him with the statement that he is connected with 
the Bureau of Standards in Washington and wanted 
to go through the Canal. I don’t know what the 
Bureau of Standards is, and I don’t care. The more 
he tells me about it, the less I know. I don’t know 
why they keep standards in a bureau, anyway; I 
should think a roll-top desk would be better. 

“ But this is the point. When we waltz out of 
the Canal into the Pacific Ocean, what are we going 
to do next? Young Mr. Howell, who’s been read- 
ing dime novels and is just crazy for adventure, 
makes the preposterous suggestion that we beat it 
up the coast to San Miguel Bay, the very spot where 
our old college chum, Balboa, looked over the top 
of his spectacles at the Pacific Ocean in the year 
fifteen sumpty-sump. Then he proposes that we 
hike up along the old Balboa trail, camping, and 
take a squint at Balboa’s Tree. That’s the tree our 
old friend shinnied up and saw both oceans. 

I told him, no, the boys wouldn’t stand for any 
such nonsense as that; Harry isn’t strong yet and 
he’s had adventures enough; and his own sons 
wouldn’t hear of such a thing, with all its discom- 
forts and rough life. Jack here’s got to report in 
the morning, too. In short, I told him it wasn’t pos- 
sible. But he’s cooked up some scheme for getting 
Jack’s leave extended and fixing up all the diffi- 
culties. The climate down here seems to have got 


AT PANAMA 


381 


into his head. Now, I just want to say that if he 
carts us down there against our wills, I’ll film up the 
whole thing from first to last and expose him on 
every sheet of canvas in the United States when 
we get home! That’s all I’ve got to say! ” 

It was all he had a chance to say, for young Mr. 
Howell ” was the center of an enthusiastic assault. 
Gordon’s face shone with unutterable glee. Will 
and Joe — you should have seen them. You should 
have seen the broad grin on little Pedro’s face. You 
should have seen the coffee on the floor after Gor- 
don led the storming party for poor defenseless Mr. 
Howell’s chair. Only one of the party turned to 
Mr. Conne, and that was Harry. 

You’re responsible for this, and you did it for 
my sake, didn’t you? ” 

‘‘ Harry, you must get hold of Vasco Nufiez be- 
fore we start. He’s president of the syndicate, and 
he’s entitled to go.” 

He’s in good hands,” laughed Harry. 

Well, my boy,” said Mr. Conne, turning to Gor- 
don, who had come around to his chair. “ Wonders 
never cease, do they? Hello, that’s quite a trinket, 
isn’t it? ” he added, noticing the boy’s fob. “ What 
is it, a locket ? Oh yes, a broken one. And to think 
you had me down for a murder two years ago! 
You’re a great boy ! ” he burst out with genial 
amusement, holding Gordon close to him. 

Just then there was a pandemonium of tooting 


BOY SCOUTS 


382 

and whistling, and everybody rushed on deck. They 
had evidently missed seeing the Old Man ’’ go 
aboard the ship, for she was far across the harbor 
where the shouting was deafening, as, carrying the 
flags of all nations, she slowly nosed her way into 
the channel of the great Canal. 

For a little while, all hands watched Mr. Conne 
making ready the camera, and then the Commission 
launch tooted the welcome signal that the Wanderer 
might proceed. It was a moment that the boys 
never forgot. All hands gathered at the rail for- 
ward, as the graceful white yacht slowly approached 
the channel. 

It seemed nothing but a broad, muddy river, the 
vivid green foliage crowding thick on both sides. 
But if it had been the Nile, it could not have held 
greater interest. Harry stood a little apart ; he had 
a strange feeling that he would like to be by himself. 
Then Jack and Gordon joined him. There was no 
laughter and very little talking. A feeling of rev- 
erence and solemnity seemed to pervade the party. 
“ We ought to be thankful we’re Americans,” said 
Mr. Howell, soberly. Mr. Conne was busy with his 
apparatus, but he answered, Who said we’re 
not?” 

They were heading due south, and as the ship ad- 
vanced slowly through the jungle-bordered river, 
the Caribbean faded away until there was only the 
faintest glimpse of the receding sea. The tropic 


AT PANAMA 


383 

sun beat down on the left of the vessel. It was very 
quiet. So, for a long while, as it seemed, they 
moved slowly up this muggy way. Yet it was only 
seven miles, and long before that distance had been 
covered a clean, symmetrical white mass, snowy 
amid the green foliage, loomed directly in their 
path. At first it looked like a snowdrift wedged be- 
tween the cabin of verdant hills through which they 
were to pass* Then, presently, the clean lines of 
concrete showed it to be the Gatun locks. The 
shores for the last mile or so were lined thick with 
people, and Harry knew there must be many fa- 
miliar faces among them. 

“ I don’t see any dam,” said Gordon. Where is 
it?” 

‘‘ There,” said Harry, pointing, but it’s so over- 
grown with the jungle that you can hardly tell it 
from the hills.” 

As they reached the locks it seemed almost as if 
their journey had ended, for there before them rose 
a sheer wall of iron. But straight ahead, appar- 
ently standing on the top of the iron wall, they could 
see the Colonel’s ship. As they watched, it slowly 
disappeared, and then out on the pier came two elec- 
tric towing engines and made fast, one to the. bow 
and one to the stern of the Wanderer. 

Between them and the iron wall there swung .from 
bank to bank an enormous chain, which now sank 
slowly out of sight in the water. The boys watched 


BOY SCOUTS 


384 

breathlessly as the great gates swung open and the 
yacht was towed through into the first lock. Two 
more engines (“mules,” as they were called) were 
made fast on her starboard side, and then for about 
fifteen minutes, which seemed to the fascinated boys 
at least an hour, the yacht slowly rose as the water 
lifted to the level of the next lock, twenty-eight feet 
above. 

Again they saw the Colonel’s ship straight ahead, 
now apparently standing on a still higher concrete 
shelf. Again it disappeared, the gates in front of 
them opened, and they were towed through into the 
second lock. 

“What’s that?” said Gordon, pointing to a 
tower-house on the shore. Harry was too absorbed 
to answer or even to hear the question, but Mr. 
Conne explained that from this tower was operated 
all the intricate machinery which lay in long tunnels 
running the whole length of the locks. 

“ Here we go upstairs again,” said Joe Howell, 
as the water slowly rose, lifting the yacht to the level 
of the third lock, through which they were towed 
and out into Gatun Lake. 

“How strange it looks,” said Jack; “that little 
island over there must be the top of Lyon Hill. 
Don’t you remember it, Harry, before the water was 
turned in? We’re eighty-five feet above sea level 
now, you know,” he added, seeing Gordon’s incredu- 
lous look at the little dot of land. 


AT PANAMA 


385 

Out across the broad lake they steamed at full 
speed, but within an hour’s time the channel nar- 
rowed again and they had to slow down because of 
the sudden turns and twists, so sharp at times that 
the Colonel’s ship was often hidden from their sight, 
although she was close ahead. The hills now 
pressed close on either side. 

Harry drew a long breath as they slowly entered 
Culebra Cut, passing the Marine Camp on the left 
and then Camp Otis on the right, where he had spent 
so many pleasant hours with Jack. There ahead of 
them loomed up Gold Hill and Contractor’s Hill, on 
either side of the channel. As they neared Culebra, 
where the walls were very sheer and precipitous, he 
pointed out to Gordon many familiar things. There 
was the well-known building of the Culebra Club; 
there was the spot where he had made his perilous 
descent into the Cut; there in the distance he could 
just distinguish his own quarters. He was still 
weak from his illness and the tears stood in his eyes 
as he recognized the familiar scenes and realized 
that never again would he help old 82 ” to hew her 
way through those rugged hills. 

Gordon was all excitement. He could scarcely 
believe even yet that they were actually crossing the 
backbone of the continent. It seemed all wrong. 
The masts and funnels of the ships looked strangely 
out of place between those crowding hills. The 


BOY SCOUTS 


386 

pilot of the Colonel’s vessel blew a long blast, and a 
thousand strange sounds echoed about them. 

Is this the Pacific Ocean ? ” Gordon asked in a 
disappointed tone, as they were towed out of the 
lock at Pedro Miguel. 

No, my boy,” laughed Mr. Conne. ** This is 
only Miraflores Lake. See, there’s where old Forty- 
’leven used to dump her dirt. Harry’ll tell you about 
it. He claims she made a record, but don’t you be- 
lieve it. loi beat her to the dump every time.” 

Two more locks were yet to be passed through, 
and then they were actually in Pacific waters, al- 
though still eight miles from the coast. 

Already dusk was falling, and the sun had dis- 
appeared behind the hills. Numberless lights now 
shone out, and the channel stretched before them 
like a roadway with lights on either side. Far ahead 
shone out the brilliant illuminations of the Pacific 
fortifications, and away to the right they caught 
the red glimmer of the lights from the leper colony 
on the coast. 

So through the long lane they steamed, amid 
shouting and cheering on every hand, and out into 
the long, slow roll of the Pacific. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


UNDER balboa’s TREE 

The next day every one was allowed shore 
leave,” as Mr. Conne called it, for errands and 
preparations, for on the following morning the 
Wanderer was to sail forth with her band of ad- 
venturers. 

I feel just like a Spaniard,” said Gordon, “ go- 
ing to penetrate where the — what is it? — where the 
foot of white man never trod.” He had, of course, 
been told of the mysterious hints dropped by Vasco 
Nunez, and he had not the slightest doubt, he said, 
that they should find “ untold treasures.” “ What 
reason would a parrot have for jollying us?” he 
demanded. He had such unbounded confidence in 
the success of the expedition that he even proposed 
a bloody quarrel ” over the division of the spoils. 

Like real true Spaniards,” Mr. Conne laughed; 
“ and ril tell you what we’ll do, Gordon ; we’ll do 
this thing right or we won’t do it at all! I’ll be 
Carltonio Conneriez, and you’ll be the young cav- 
alier, Gordoneria Lorderes.” 

And — and the ship ought to be wrecked,” said 
Gordon, ‘‘and — ” 


387 


BOY SCOUTS 


388 

But at that Mr. Howell (Cavalier Howellizzo, as 
Mr. Conne christened him) put his foot down. 
They had had enough wreck already, he said. But 
still Mr. Conne and Gordon planned and plotted, 
bestowing the most atrociously unpronounceable 
names on all the party. They had some reason to 
fear, they announced, that a large Spanish fleet was 
setting forth from Cadiz to apprehend them and 
take them back to Spain in chains, so they repre- 
sented to Harry (Count Harrimus de Arnoldo) 
that if he wished to go ashore and barter with the 
natives he had better be about it. The “ Count ” re- 
plied that he wished to buy some tooth paste at the 
Commissary Stores, at which Gordon and Mr. 
Conne were both horrified. 

“ Who ever heard of a Spanish explorer buying 
tooth paste ? ’’ said Gordon, disgustedly. Even the 
Marquis Jackelquez Holdenio said the very idea was 
preposterous. 

Early in the morning most of the party (dis- 
guised as modern Americans) went ashore in the 
launch; Mr. Conne and his party to get some be- 
longings at the Tivoli; Jack to report to his officer; 
Harry (taking Gordon with him, of course) to call 
and shop and say good-by and, last but not least, to 
bring aboard the renowned leader and instigator 
of the expedition, Vasco Nunez de Balboa. Mr. 
Howell also went ashore, but what he went for was 
a mystery. He said it was to list up some lateral 


AT PANAMA 


389 

vibration notes and congratulate the Old Man,” 
and to secure a man as extra help aboard, a thing 
made necessary by the sudden increase of the ship’s 
company. Mr. Conne, however, declared that he 
went to gather poison for arrows, and to bid fare- 
well to his beautiful daughter, the Princess Vibratia 
Pressurius, whom he might never see again. 

Harry knew his labor on the Canal was over, for 
the dry excavation work ” was at an end, and 
moreover he was in no condition to work now. He 
had all but won the medal and had lost it to save and 
gain a friend, who had taken him to another friend 
whom he had thought dead. Was this not enough? 

But when Jack went ashore, he said good-by to 
them all, for it was doubtful whether things could 
be so arranged that he might join them. 

Gordon was happy enough to spend the day in 
going about on shore, meeting old friends of 
Harry’s and sight-seeing. But the Isthmus did not 
seem like the same place to Harry. At Einpire, they 
found that Mr. Barney and his little family had 
gone to the States the week before, his work being 
done, and the homelike little bungalow was closed. 
The thought of Mr. Barney was now the one thorn 
pricking at Harry’s conscience, and he wondered 
what the burly shovelman thought of him and of his 
sudden disappearance. He consoled himself with 
the thought that when he visited Jack in Missouri, 
as he meant to do, he might be able to see him, and 


390 


BOY SCOUTS 


such indeed proved to be the case. But Harry’s life 
on the Mississippi is part of another story. 

The flooding of the Cut had changed the whole 
aspect of things along the line and seemed to have 
destroyed, with one fell blow, the old familiar life 
of which he had grown so fond. Some of his 
friends had gone home; others had been transferred 
and were in quarters far removed from where he 
had known them. In a word, the big happy family 
was breaking up. 

But one of 82’s ” company the boys did meet, 
and that was Mike Kerrigan. He was in the Em- 
pire Commissary now and went over to Silver Quar- 
ters with them at noon, where Gordon had the priv- 
ilege of eating one of Uncle Sam’s world-renowned 
thirty-cent meals, — those meals which put all the 
restaurant keepers in Panama out of business. It 
was good to see Mike; he seemed like the only col- 
umn left standing in a city which had burned down. 
And here, in his humble but spotless little room, a 
voice greeted Harry which took him back (how far 
away it seemed) to the day when he first landed on 
the Isthmus. 

“ Hello,” it said, and as Harry opened the cage 
door, Vasco, to Gordon’s unbounded delight, stepped 
cautiously but promptly out upon his master’s hand. 

Br-r-r-r-r,” he said, and bent his head low for 
Harry to stroke it. 

‘‘ Hello,” said Harry; ‘‘hello. Cap.” 


AT PANAMA 


391 


Pretty Kid,” said Vasco. 

Sure an’ he knows you,” said Mike, a generous 
grin lighting up his face. 

‘‘ You see,” said Harry to Gordon, Fm the 
* kid ’ now ; that’s what he calls me, and he has a 
right to, too, for he can remember way back to the 
days of ‘ Clementina, ’Forty-niner,’ can’t you. 
Cap ? ” 

‘‘ Poor Fred — balana — banana — poor Fred 
Bann — Hello, Harry boy. Kid.” 

“ What did he say — Fred what? ” asked Gordon, 
pricking up his ears. 

But Vasco began to preen his feathers as if he did 
not wish to be further interviewed. 

Mike had been over to Colon and told Harry that 
the Balboa Bazaar was closed and its proprietor had 
disappeared. 

There was not much time to talk with the good- 
natured Irishman, but what did Harry do (on learn- 
ing that he was to finish his work at the Commissary 
on Saturday) but drag him along down to the 
Wanderer and present him to Mr. Howell, who 
promptly engaged him as extra boat hand. 

That night Gordon, Mr. Conne, and Vasco held 
a solemn conclave at Vasco’s throne, or perch, of 
state in the cabin, and a dark secret was revealed in 
connection with Mike’s past. It seemed that dur- 
ing the time Vasco had lived with him he had fre- 
quently heard Mike refer to an estate in Spain, and 


392 


BOY SCOUTS 


Vasco, by hiding his head under his wing and pre- 
tending to be asleep, had discovered that Mike was 
in reality the Hidalgo Don Mikeezo Kerrigio, dis- 
guised as a laborer on the Panama Canal ! He ad- 
mitted his identity with a grin when confronted by 
Mr. Conne, and was given the important military 
post of assistant steward on the Wanderer. 

And yet one more surprise there was before the 
party started, and that was sprung by the wily Cav- 
alier Howellizzo, whose ways were dark and mys- 
terious (a master in plot and intrigue, according to 
Mr. Conne), and who at supper made the following 
announcement : 

Boys, you see I’ve brought aboard with me our 
friend Jack, who, having duly reported at Camp 
Otis, has been granted an extra leave of thirty days. 
I was able, I am glad to say, to accomplish this 
by-” 

By poisoning Colonel Greene at Camp Otis, and 
falsifying the papers of the regiment,” interrupted 
Mr. Conne in a stage whisper to Gordon. 

Mr. Howell smilingly rubbed his innocent bald 
head and continued, “ I have seen Colonel Goethals 
and — er — he tells me that in the case of — er — the 
Count Harrimus de Arnoldo, a letter was recently 
received at the Administration Building which he 
was kind enough to show me. It — it was — er — in 
fact, from a gentleman, a Mr. Wentworth, who 
related an incident of — er — I forget his real name,” 


AT PANAMA 


393 


he smiled, so I’ll call him Harry. The Colonel had 
been very much impressed with this letter, for at the 
time of its writing and indeed at the time of its 
receipt, the fate of our young friend was still doubt- 
ful. On hearing the subsequent circumstances from 
me, which I asked him to regard confidentially, he 
said that in view of our young friend’s generous re- 
fusal to leave the Isthmus for a vacation at a time 
when his services were much needed, the time he 
eventually did see fit to take without leave will be 
credited to him as a vacation. So he entrusted to 
me this little box, but before I part with it, I have 
one thing more to say.” 

Harry’s eyes were riveted upon the box, but they 
were so suffused that he could scarcely see it. Gor- 
don rose from his chair and sat on the arm of 
Harry’s, listening eagerly. Jack looked straight 
across the table at Harry. Mr. Conne, at the foot 
of the table, cocked his head and looked quizzically 
about as if amused to see how Harry would act. 

My boy,” said Mr. Howell, before I called on 
Colonel Goethals, he had, it seems, received a call 
from one who, as it appears to me, is the best kind 
of friend a boy could have. He had pleaded your 
cause so convincingly that there was little left for 
me to say. The Colonel is not always an easy man 
to talk with, but there are some men so gifted that 
they can talk with anybody, great or small, high or 
low. 


394 


BOY SCOUTS 


“ My boy, the little medal which this box contains 
represents the required period of patient, faithful, 
honest work. But do not forget who went to Col- 
onel Goethals, unbeknown to you, and asked to have 
the question answered (just for curiosity, as he 
said) whether Uncle Sam intended to disgrace 
himself by getting out of paying one of his debts 
on a mere technicality. Who does that sound like, 
Harry? 

The boy rose, the precious medal now in his hand, 
and leaving Jack and Gordon for the moment, went 
around and grasped Mr. Carleton Conne by the 
hand. 

“ You've always been my friend from the first 
minute I saw you,” he said. 

“ Brush that hair back, Harry boy ; that's right,” 
said Mr. Conne, patting the boy's shoulder in his 
comfortable, friendly way; ‘‘run in and show that 
to Vasco now; we've got to keep on the right side 
of him, you know, Harry boy. Uncle Sam has lost 
his job, and now Vasco Nunez is boss! ” 

And he sat back contemplating the pale but happy 
boy, and keeping time with a pencil, he hummed a 
stanza which carried Harry back to the Tivoli and 
to that evening more than a year ago : 

“In a cavern, in a canon. 

Excavating for a mine, 

Lived a miner, 'forty-niner, 

And his daughter, Clementine." 


395 


AI EANAMA 

They made a prosperous voyage down the west 
coast, and in about four days dropped anchor in the 
historic Gulf of San Miguel, which indents the 
widening Isthmus nearly half its breadth. They 
were at a spot memorable in the annals of the Isth- 
mus. Here the intrepid Balboa had knelt reverently 
on the wild shore and, thanking God for his deliver- 
ance from the savage and the jungle, had taken pos- 
session of the country in the name of the Spanish 
crown. 

“ How it must have seemed to him,” said Mr. 
Howell, “ emerging from that tangled wilderness, to 
gaze out over this vast, unknown sea, and to know 
that he was the first white man to scan its placid 
bosom.” 

To how its which? ” asked Mr. Conne. 

To realize,” said Mr. Howell, “ that after all 
his hardships and sufferings, he was at last per- 
mitted to— to — ” 

“ To get away with it,” said Andy Breen. 

They were now to go ashore and push up through 
the jungle to the famous tree. 

“ Vasco,” said Mr. Conne, “ if this turns out to 
be a practical joke of yours, you’ll come to an un- 
timely end.” 

“ Untimely end is good,” laughed Harry. “ He’s 
old enough to be your grandfather now, aren’t you. 
Cap?” 

Vasco himself remained aboard, as also Mr. 


BOY SCOUTS 


396 

Howell and Mike, whose services were needed 
there. 

Early the next morning the others went ashore in 
the launch and started up into the tangled mazes of 
the interior. 

If we were to follow their footsteps in that ad- 
venturous quest, it would require another volume. 
And it is a matter which we may well doubt whether 
any book is big enough for the Panama Canal and 
something else besides. Let it suffice then to say 
that the sturdy band pressed forward, hewing away 
the jungle by day and bivouacking by night. And 
if you think that the time dragged, with Mr. Conne 
along, you are welcome to think so. Also if you 
think there was no jollying — very well, think as you 
please. 

It was a journey which required all of Harry’s 
skill as a woodsman, for such path as there might 
have been years before had been entirely overgrown 
and closed up by the luxuriant tropical vegetation. 
Yet a path hewn through the jungle is apt, like a 
wound, to leave a scar which always remains, if the 
scout or woodsman be but skillful enough to find 
it. And so, thanks to Harry’s practiced and observ- 
ant eye, they picked their way along, hewing out 
their path with machettes as they advanced. Harry 
carried the old knife which he had taken from little 
Pedro, and which had belonged to Requelme, with 
the initials F. B. carved in its worn handle. 


AT PANAMA 


397 


At last, one afternoon, they came in sight of the 
ancient tree, rising out of the surrounding jungle, 
isolated and lonely, and knew it from the rustic 
ladder which, it was supposed, some of the Cali- 
fornia gold-hunters had erected to aid them to its 
highest branches in the hope that they might obtain 
some cheering glimpse of one or other of the distant 
coasts that they were seeking. And the old tree had 
not disappointed them ; for whether the adventurous 
Torty-niner cast his hopeful vision over that tangled 
lowland toward the west where fortune perhaps 
awaited him, or whether he bent a wistful gaze 
northward, having succeeded, or perhaps failed, 
still the old tree showed him his first substantial 
vision of the far-off gold fields or of his distant 
home, as the case might be. 

Ninety-odd miles away the great Canal was now 
open, and the mammoth drills and shovels which had 
done the work, and the trim and modern houses of 
Uncle Sam’s vast force, stood about to rob the 
hills and jungle of the ancient solitude. But here 
the scene was the same as when Balboa first 
viewed it. 

One by one the boys climbed up and scanned the 
distant oceans. No sign of life was there, no sound, 
in all the country roundabout ; nothing but the intri- 
cate and vivid mass of interwoven growths extend- 
ing far into the distance and ending in another 
wilderness of blue, the far-off ocean. Gordon, 


BOY SCOUTS 


398 

perched upon the topmost branches of the old tree, 
was silent; yes, even he was silent, as he contem- 
plated for a moment the forsaken scene about him. 
He was thinking of Balboa, and then imagining him- 
self to be a ’forty-niner who had left his burden of 
the precious metal on the ground below and shinnied 
up for a welcome glimpse of the Atlantic, when the 
voice of Carleton Conne recalled him to himself. 

“ What ho. Cavalier Lorderas ! Do you want 
your bacon in a sandwich or will you have it plain ? ” 
Don’t bother me,” said Gordon, contemptu- 
ously. 

“ I’m making a rice pudding. Kid,” called 
Harry. 

But Gordon scorned to answer. You can’t hear 
such a call away back in the fifteenth century, nor 
even in the year 1849. 

“ Here’s something to fetch him,” said George 
Warren, in an awed whisper. He had just risen 
from clearing away a little space about the tree. 

It did fetch him, for what George had brought to 
light was nothing less than a human skull. 

In an instant the boy was down, and the entire 
party gathered about the little space that George had 
cleared and examined a collection of white bones 
which lay spread about an area of four or five feet. 
They were dry and powdery. The skull, which Mr. 
Conne held, was broken, but from what cause who 
should say? As Harry gazed at it, and at these 


AT PANAMA 


399 


other grim mementos so long concealed beneath the 
tangled brush, he shuddered to think that this very 
machette which he held might have felled the person 
whose bones they now gazed upon, silent and awe- 
struck. 

Whose were they? 

Presently, Gordon, ever observant, picked up 
what seemed at first to be a smooth pebble, but scrap- 
ing the earth from it he found it to be the half of a 
gold locket which exactly matched the little frag- 
ment that he wore. Within it was a picture which 
seemed to have been that of a girl, but it was too de- 
faced by time and the elements to distinguish the 
features. 

After a moment of silence, Gordon spoke, low 
and reverently: Harry, it’s — it’s — Fred Ban- 

nard — Miss Bannard’s brother.” 

There was a moment of dead silence. 

And that is what Vasco has been trying so long 
to tell me,” said Harry, then. Poor Fred Bannard 
under Balboa's tree. And all his talk about bananas 
and balanas was just trying to get that last name — 
Bannard. Poor fellow,” Harry added, shaking his 
head, I wonder what happened to him. Poor Miss 
Bannard, she — ” 

Rich Miss Bannard, you mean ! ” exclaimed Joe, 
dragging an old leather bag out of the underbrush. 

This is filled with yellow dust — it’s gold ! ’’ 

And so, indeed, it proved. And poor Miss Ban- 


400 BOY SCOUTS 

nard would live out the remainder of her span of 
life in comfort. 

Here would be a good turn worthy of the most 
chivalrous scout who ever forgot himself to make 
another happy ! 

But who shall tell the story of that broken skull 
and those moldering fragments which had once been 
a man? 

Indeed, I know no more of it than what I have 
learned from Vasco Nunez, and that has been told 
you as fast as I could get it out of him. Not another 
syllable would he ever say. But there was room for 
speculation, and as the party pressed their way back 
to the shore they did speculate on many things. 
They knew from little Pedro (and they had him re- 
peat it now) that old Requelme, years and years ago, 
had gone with another man (an American, Pedro 
thought) to search for treasure, and had come hack 
alone. Nor would he ever tell what had happened 
to his companion. To whom did the machette first 
belong, and how happened it to be in the possession 
of Requelme? Was it merely a coincidence that the 
initials in its worn handle were the same as those of 
the man whose poor remains now lay before them ? 
Had Requelme murdered his companion for the 
other’s gold, and then failed to find it? Or had he 
left his comrade to die in the jungle, alone? 

And the bird which had been the American boy’s 
pet and faithful companion, — of what strange and 


AT PANAMA 


401 


terrible deed had he been perhaps the only witness? 
What was it that he had striven so hard to make 
known to Harry? 

Ah, these are matters which happened years and 
years ago, in the adventurous days of Clementina, 
Torty-niner,’' when strange, dark deeds were com- 
mitted in remote and lonely places, because of the 
thirst for gold. 

What happened on the Isthmus of Panama in the 
year 1849 is not a part of this story. Yet it is worth 
while remembering one little scoutish fact to which 
I would call your respectful attention. Harry 
Arnold, remembering the good scout rule about 
cruelty to any living thing, had purchased Vasco, 
and Vasco had put it in Harry’s way to repay Miss 
Bannard for a hundred little kindnesses. And Gor- 
don Lord was right; a good turn (like the scout 
catching-mitt) is indestructible, and is sure to bear 
fruit some time or other. 

If you should happen to be in Oak wood. New 
Jersey, and are passing the big, old-fashioned Ar- 
nold house, notice in the bay window a mahogany 
standard with a natural-wood perch upon it. That 
perch came from Balboa’s Tree. And there upon it 
in the quiet dignity and complaisance of old age, sits 
Vasco Nunez de Balboa, quite as independent and 
perverse as ever. 

He spends most of his time preening his feathers 


402 


BOY SCOUTS 


and ruminating on his long and eventful career. 
There is a handsome brass cage near by, but he 
seldom goes into it. He does pretty much as he 
pleases. Yet he usually condescends to talk with 
Harry’s mother, or with Miss Bannard when she 
drops in, or with Marjorie Dan forth with whom he 
is sometimes quite chatty and confidential. Dr. 
Brent, the boys’ scoutmaster, says that he thinks the 
softer and gentler tones of the girl’s voice incline 
the parrot to talk. And maybe so. 

Her voice is soft and gentle enough, goodness 
knows. 


CROWELL’S BOY SCOUT SERIES 


BOY SCOUTS IN THE MAINE WOODS 

By James Otis. Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 

BOY SCOUTS IN A LUMBER CAMP 

By James Otis. Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 

ALONG THE MOHAWK TRAIL; Or, Boy Scouts on 
Lake Champlain 

By Percy K. Fitzhugh. Illustrated by Reming- 
ton Schuyler. 

FOR UNCLE SAM, BOSS; Or, Boy Scouts at Panama 
By Percy K. Fitzhugh. Four illustrations. 

PLUCK ON THE LONG TRAIL; Or, Boy Scouts in 
the Rockies 

By Edwin L. Sabin. Illustrated by Clarence 
Rowe. 

EACH VOLUME, 12mo, CLOTH, $1.25 POSTPAID 


A fine series of wholesome, realistic, and 
entertaining stories for boys by juvenile 
writers of recognized standing, who have 
a thorough knowledge of Boy Scouts and of 
real scouting in the sections of the country 
in which the scenes of their books are laid. 


THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 

NEW YORK 


THE “SILVER FOX FARM” SERIES 

Bv JAMES OTIS 


THE WIRELESS STATION AT SILVER FOX FARM. 

Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo. $1. 50 postpaid. 

A bright, vividly written narrative of the adventures of Paul Simpson and Ned 
Bartlett in helping the former’s father start a farm for raising silver foxes on 
Barren Island, twelve miles off the Maine coast, 

THE AEROPLANE AT SILVER FOX FARM. 

Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo. $1. 50 postpaid. 

An absorbing story of the building and working of an aeroplane on Barren 
Island. 

BUILDING AN AIRSHIP AT SILVER FOX FARM. 

Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo. $1.50 postpaid. 

Encouraged by their success in aeroplane-building, the boys of Silver Fox 
Farm go in for a full-fledged airship. 

AIRSHIP CRUISING FROM SILVER FOX FARM. 

Illustrated by Charles Copeland. 8vo. $1. 50 postpaid. 

A further account of the marvels performed by the Silver Fox Farmers, in- 
cluding the story of the thrilling rescue of a shipwrecked yachting party by 
means of their great air-cruiser. 

BOY SCOUT BOOKS 

BOY SCOUTS IN THE MAINE WOODS. 

BOY SCOUTS IN A LUMBER CAMP. 

12mo, illustrated. Each, $1.25 postpaid. 

Other Books by TAMES OTIS 

POUND BY THE CIRCUS. 

12mo, illustrated. $1.00 postpaid. 

Dorothy^s Spy Joel Harford Joey at the Pair 

Two Stowaways 

12mo, illustrated. Each, 75 cents postpaid. 

A Short Cruise How Tommy Saved the Barn 

Dick in the Desert Christmas at Deacon HacketUs 

Our Uncle the Major How the Twins Captured a Hessian 
Aunt Hannah and Seth The Wreck of the Cireus 

8vo, illustrated. Each, 50 cents postpaid. 


THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 






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